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MERE  MELODIES  i 


ROBINSON 


MERE  MELODIES 

By  Edwin  Meade  Robinson 

{Ted  Robinson) 


Philadelphia 

DAVID  McKAY,  PUBLISHER 

604-608  South  Washington  Square 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
David  McKay 


THE  most  of  these  poems  have  been 
printed  in  The  Cleveland  Plain 
Dealer,  The  Cleveland  Leader,  The  Chi- 
cago Evening  Post,  The  Indianapolis 
Sentinel  and  the  Indianapolis  Journal. 
Others  have  appeared  in  "Puck"  and 
The  Century  Magazine.  Due  acknowl- 
edgment is  made  to  all  these  publications 
for  permission  to  reproduce  the  poems. 


4f^  j'v  /.   r»^  rs 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Artist 

11 

"The  Young  Man's  Fancy" 

12 

Resurrection 

13 

An  April  Rhapsody 

14 

The  Imperfect 

17 

The  Last  Chance 

19 

The  Princess  Pays  a  Call 

21 

The  Boast  of  Frangois  Villon 

31 

A  Notion 

33 

A  Ballade  to  Order 

34 

Conservation 

36 

The  Lonesomest 

38 

Ballade  of  Easter  Dawn 

39 

Undaunted 

41 

Unknown 

42 

An  Abandoned  Quarry 

43 

A  Mere  Theory 

46 

A  Pagan  Love 

49 

In  April 

51 

A  Letter 

53 

Ballade  of  the  "Awkward  Age" 

55 

Wondering 

57 

The  Supreme  Moment 

59 

Better  Faith 

64 

The  Way  of  Hope 

65 

Making  the  Best  of  It 

67 

8    TABLE  OF   CONTENTS 


PAGE 

February  23 

68 

The  Magicians 

69 

June 

71 

The  Interpreters 

73 

The  Lost  Estate 

74 

The  Poet 

76 

Regained 

78 

Magic 

80 

A  Twilight  Fancy 

82 

A  Type 

83 

A  Melody 

86 

Evanescence 

88 

A  Sonnet  of  Guinevere,  the  Queen 

89 

Clouded 

91 

The  Two  Singers 

92 

Alloy 

96 

Yesterday 

98 

The  South  Wind 

99 

Shame 

102 

The  Old  Things 

103 

Rebirth 

104 

Premature 

105 

Along  the  Bottoms 

107 

The  Voice 

108 

Looking  a  Bit  Ahead 

109 

Midsummer  Inland 

110 

Beauty 

113 

The  Three  Wishes 

114 

Enter — An  Immortal 

116 

TABLE  OF  CONTENTS    9 


PAGE 

Ideals  lis 

Cause  for  Mourning  121 

Busy  Explaining  122 

Wild  Roses  124 

Perhaps  128 

"Of  Such  is  the  Kingdom"  129 

July  131 

At  the  End  132 

The  Muse  Gone  Mad  134 

Aurea  13' 

Lux  in  Tenebris  139 

An  Amateur  14* 

In  the  Monastery  142 

A  Humid  Night  145 

An  ImpossibiUty  14' 

A  Prisoner  148 

In  Visionshire  151 

Intuition  152 

The  Nineteenth  Psalm  153 

Autumnal  Automorphism  155 

Getting  Old  157 

The  Autumn  Imp  158 

One  Good  Dream  160 

Ballade  A  Double  Refrain  163 

Autumn  Afield  165 

Ex  Minimis  16' 

Vale!  169 

A  Bitter  Jest  1^1 

"The  Cave ^'  172 


lo  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Afterglow  173 

A  Little  Autumn  Song  174 

Labia  Mea  Aperies  176 

The  Meridian  177 

Ballade  of  Autumn  179 

In  October  181 

Miracles  182 

Temptation  184 

Ballade  of  Christmas  Week  186 

Alone  188 

A  Christmas  Melody  189 

Dance  Macabre  193 

A  Reflection  195 

The  Old  Vigil  197 

The  Mighty  Atom  199 


MERE    MELODI  E  S      ii 


THE  ARTIST 

TT  7ITH  words  he  works,  or  with  the 
^  ^     yielding  clay, 
Lays  on  the  colors,  draws  the  facile  line ; 
True  to  his  art  he  fashions  something 
fine. 
But  is  unsatisfied  from  day  to  day. 

What    keeps    him    laboring,    as    never 
wrought 
Or    slave,    or    servant   of   a   grinding 

Power  ? 
What  but  the  consciousness,  with  every 
hour, 
Of  this,  the  very  pinnacle  of  thought — 

''God,  who  created  all  things,  cannot  die; 
And   I,   if  I    can   make   some   lovely 

thing 
From  nothing,  fit  for  this  world's  wor- 
shiping, 
May  somehow  share  His  immortality!" 


12      MERE    MELODIES 

"THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  FANCY" 

WHEN  Youth  sits  down  to  muse,  on 
nights  Uke  these, 
Or  even  ere  the  mating  robin's  song 
Makes  him  forget  that  springtime  was 
so  long — 
Even  before  the  fruit  is  on  the  trees, 
Or  ever  dusty  paths  bring  memories 
Of  other  summers — or  the  roses  throng 
The  lattices,  or  all  the  woods  are  strong 
With  scents  that  make  a  memory  of  a 
breeze — 

Even  then,  through  half-drawn  windows, 

the  soft  skies 
Show    stars    that    mind    him    of    some 
woman's  eyes — 
The    warm    wind    holds    remembered 
breaths  that  hurt 
His  heart.    Midsummer  dews  are  tender 

tears. 
And  in  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  he  hears 
The  soft  susurrus  of  a  silken  skirt. 


MERE    MELODIES      13 


RESURRECTION 

MUSIC,  wise  words  and  eloquence  are 
good. 
But  he  has  learned  the  most  of  deeper 
things 
Who,  fleeing  from  the  noise,  has  under- 
stood 
The  wisdom  Silence  brings. 

Fair  faces,   lovely  landscapes,   pictures, 
seem 

Most  beautiful  to  seeing  human  eyes. 
But  ah!  the  greater  beauty  of  the  dream 

That  in  the  darkness  lies! 

And  so  the  light  and  beauty  that  the 
spark 
Of  life  enkindles,  while  we  have  our 
breath. 
Perhaps  shall  be  transcended  in  that  dark 
And  silent  thing  called  Death! 


14      MERE    MELODIES 


AN  APRIL  RHAPSODY 

SOMETHING  in    this  April  daytime 
lies  to  me  and  says  it's  Maytime — 
Fools  me,  tells  me  it  is  playtime  and  a 
time  for  idle  resting; 
Something  beckons  me  to  follow  to  the 
hidden  woodsy  hollow 
Where   the   redbird   and    the   swallow 
and  the  mockingbird  are  nesting; 
Something  sets  my  eyes  to  glancing,  sets 
my  weary  feet  to  dancing, 
Starts  the  heavy  heart  romancing,  as 
it  did  when  it  was  younger; 
And  the  head  that's  dull  and  hoary,  nods 
to  hear  a  fairy  story — 
Jaded  palates  taste  the  glory  of  the 
Spring,  and  feel  its  hunger! 


MERE    MELODIES       15 

I  can  feel  my  lips  a-sipping  of  the  sweet- 
ness that  is  dripping 
From  the  maples,  as  I'm  tripping  drunk- 
enly  through  field  and  forest; 

0  thou  woodland,  still  thy  ringing!     O 

thou  April,  loose  thy  clinging 
Arms,  and  stop  the  siren-singing  of  the 
melody  thou  pourest! 

1  am  one  of  Fortune's  debtors,  bound  to 

town  with  golden  fetters, 
While  the  squirrels  leap — my  betters ! — 
from  their  treedom  to  their  turf- 
dom: 
Only  are  my  nerves  too  crazy  for  my 
languid  limbs — so  lazy 
That  the  distance,  dim  and  hazy,  can- 
not drag  me  from  my  serfdom! 


i6      MERE    MELODIES 

Thus  the  springtime  comes  and  twitters 
to  a  soul  it  but  embitters — 
Holding  up  a  prize  that  glitters  to  an 
eye  that's  blurred  and  blinded — 
Sending  forth  the  scent  of  roses  to  the 
grindstone-polished  noses — 
Flaming  for  an  eye  that  closes,  speak- 
ing to  the  muddle-minded ! 
E'en  the  soul  that  would  embrace  her  is 
by  force  a  money  chaser, 
And  he  couldn't  but  debase  her  with 
his  lewd,  unhallowed  kisses — 
But,  on  weary  knees  a-creeping  where  he's 
laid  his  youth  a-sleeping 
Don't  you  know  that  he  is  weeping 
for  the  happiness  he  misses  ? 


MERE    MELODIES      17 


THE  IMPERFECT 

1ADY,  little  lady,  God  has  made  you 
^      fair- 
Put  His  skies  within  your  eyes,  His 
sunshine  in  your  hair; 
Robbed  the  lilies  for  your  brow,  the  roses 
for  your  cheek — 
Made  your  words  of  mockingbirds  that 
carol  when  you  speak! 

Lady,   little   lady,   God   has   made   you 
sweet — 
Filled  with  grace  your  lovely  face,  with 
grace  your  dainty  feet; 
Almost  everything  is  yours  that  heaven 
could  impart — 
So  it's  odd,  I  think,  that  God  quite  left 
out  your  heart! 


i8      MERE    MELODIES 

Lady — little   lady!     God   left   out   your 
soul, — 
Left  just  one  small  thing  undone  to 
make  a  perfect  whole ; 
And,  perhaps,  His  wisdom  shows,  in  this 
lack  in  you — 
You'd  be  worth  too  much  for  earth, 
were  you  good  and  true! 


MERE    MELODIES      19 


THE  LAST  CHANCE 

(When  one's  nose  itches,  it  is  interpreted  as  a 
sign  that  one  is  about  to  kiss  a  fool.) 

TT  was  the  jester  of  a  king, 
^  Who,  on  a  day,  made  shift  to  sing 
A  roundelay,  a  chanson  gay,  to  please 
the  king  his  daughter; 
It  was  the  jester  of  a  king 
Who  could  not  think  of  anything 

But  how  her  eyes  were  like  blue  skies 
reflected  in  deep  water! 


It  was  the  daughter  of  the  king 
Who  bade  the  jester  not  to  sing — 

But  to  abide  close  at  her  side,  and  read 
her  signs  and  omens. 
"I  saw  the  crescent  moon,''  she  said, 
"When  it  was  straight  above  my  head; 
Whose   visit   is    presaged    of   this  —  a 
lover's  or  a  foeman's .?" 


20      MERE    MELODIES 

And  many  a  sign  he  read  her,  pat, 
For  he  was  learned  in  lore  like  that; 
But  one   sure   sign  could   she   divine, 
of  how  his  heart  was  aching; 
And,  of  her  grace,  she  pitied  him, 
Because  his  eyes  with  pain  were  dim. 
And  wished  an  art  to  heal  his  heart, 
ere  it  came  near  to  breaking ! 

"One  omen,  still,  and  then  no  more; 
My  nose,"  she  murmured,  "itcheth  sore! 
What  may  it  mean?"  and  she  did  lean 
so  near,  he  trembled  sadly. 
"I  know  it  not,"  he  said.     And  she 
Went  from  his  presence,  angrily. 

Oh,  twice  a  fool  and  thrice  a  fool  was 
he,  to  guess  so  badly! 


MERE    MELODIES      21 


THE  PRINCESS  PAYS  A  CALL 

I 

DOWN  through  winding  ways  unholy, 
Comes  a  Princess,  riding  slowly, 
Braving  scandal,  scorning  censure; 
In  the  city's  secret  places. 
Side  by  side  with  dark  disgraces, 
Peradventure. 

II 

Close  at  rear,  a  sole  attendant, 

White  with  lace,  with  gold  resplendent. 

Hesitatingly  advances : 
Troubled,  grave,  and  unenlightened. 
All  about  him,  to  the  right  and 
Left,  he  glances. 

Ill 
Still,  to  salve  his  inward  chafing. 
Not  a  word  or  glance  vouchsafing 

Rides  the  princess,  slowly — slowly — 
Slower  still,  the  way  she  crosses. 
By  a  darksome  doorway  pauses, — 
Dingy,  lowly. 


22      MERE    MELODIES 

IV 

Then  she  flings  her  bridle  to  him 
And  a  thrill  of  pain  shoots  thro'  him, 

As  she  slips,  with  lightning  quickness 
From  her  horse,  and  stands  surrounded 
With  the  tide-marks  of  unbounded 
Sin  and  sickness. 

V 

Shrieks  the  door  upon  its  rusty 
Hinges,  and  the  rotten,  dusty 

Staircase  groans  and  creaks  and  mut- 
ters. 
Like  a  swallow,  upward  always, 
Thro'  the  narrow,  gloomy  hallways, 

On  she  flutters. 
•  •«••• 

VI 

'Neath  the  gables,  grim  and  grimy, 
'Neath  the  dripping  eaves  and  slimy. 
There's  a  quaint,  half-hidden  oriel: 
Safe  from  modern  innovations. 
It  has  outlived  generations 
Immemorial. 


MERE    MELODIES      23 


VII 

Thro'  this  window  one  rare  pencil 
Of  God's  hght  has  graved  a  stencil 
On  the  bare  boards  of  an  attic ; 
How  long  have  its  walls  ascetic 
Witnessed  struggles,  grim,  pathetic, 
Or  dramatic! 

VIII 

On  a  dingy  pallet  lying 

In  the  dark,  alone  and  dying, 

The  dim  twilight  shows  a  figure : 
On  the  cover  shows  a  blurred  hand 
Gaunt  as  talon  of  a  bird,  and 
Scarcely  bigger. 

IX 

Shows  a  face,  in  sharp  outlining 
On  the  pillow,  half  reclining. 

Half  aroused,  with  ear  that  listens 
For  a  footfall,  and  a  high-light 
In  his  eyes  that,  thro'  the  twilight. 
Gleams  and  glistens. 


24      MERE    MELODIES 


X 

Gleam  and  glisten,  die  and  dwindle, 
As  a  fire  will  fade  and  kindle 
In  its  vain,  expiring  flashes. 
Ere  it  flares  up,  grand  in  dying — 
Puff!  And  here's  a  heap  of  flying 
Dust  and  ashes! 


XI 

Outside,  in  the  narrow  entry. 

One  gray  rat  who's  standing  sentry 

Flees  his  post  in  sudden  terror: 
There  approaches  something  human- 
Not  the  aged,  bent  char-woman, 
Someone  fairer — 

XII 

Someone  sweeter,  taller,  younger — 
And  the  rat  forgets  his  hunger. 

And  his  jeweled  eyeballs  glitter, 
As  she  begs  him  who  is  lying 
In  the  dust  and  darkness — dying! — 
To  admit  her. 


MERE    MELODIES      25 


XIII 

There's  a  rush  of  silken  vesture, 
Then  she  taps,  with  regal  gesture, 

On  the  creaking  door,  and  standing 
Still  a  moment,  hesitating. 
Hears  her  knock  reverberating 
Down  the  landing. 

XIV 

There  she  stands,  her  loud  heart  throb- 
bing. 
Then,  in  voice  all  broken,  sobbing. 
Calls  a  proud  patrician  surname: 
Hark!  there  echoes  thro'  the  stillness 
A  rich  voice,  subdued  by  illness, 
Calling  her  name! 

XV 

Falls  the  darkness,  soft  and  certain, 
All  around  them,  like  a  curtain — 

"Love    'tis    thou!"      "O    love,    I've 
waited!" 
"  Stay  now  till  the  light  gives  warning, 
Thro'  the  window,  of  the  morning 
Long  belated." 


26      MERE    MELODIES 

XVI 

"Stay  till  day?     I  stay  forever!" 
"Aye  for  me,  dear  one,  for  never 

God  nor  man  can  take  you  from  me, 
Till  the  tide  that  surges  o'er  me. 
And  the  mists  that  rise  before  me 
Overcome  me!" 

XVII 

"Nay,  the  tide  shall  ebb  ere  daybreak. 
And  the  mists,  swept  far  away,  break 
Like  the  salt  spray  on  a  lee  shore !" 
"Nay,  the  ebb  shall  sweep  me,  rather. 
Thro'  the  mists  that  grow  and  gather, 
To  God's  Sea-shore ! 

XVIII 

"Closer,  love,  stay  close  beside  me — 
Death  has  given  what  life  denied  me — 

Let  me  feel,  who  cannot  see  thee : 
Let  me  breathe  thro'  those  rich  tresses. 
Let  me,  from  thy  lips'  caresses. 
Drink  of  Lethe  1 


MERE    MELODIES      27 


XIX  j 

'*All  my  life  and  all  its  losses,  j 

All  its  strivings,  all  its  crosses,  j 

All  the  work  and  wishes  in  it,  i 

All  its  pain  and  joy  unsated,  j 

All  its  pleasures  were  created  ; 

For  this  minute!  ! 

XX  i 
"Closer— for  my  sight  grows  dimmer,  i 
Closer— God !     For  one  brief  glimmer,  ^ 

Just  to  see  if  thou  art  fair  yet!  : 
Wind  that  arm — ah!  I  had  missed  it — 
Here,  of  old,  a  dimple  kissed  it- 
Is  it  there  yet?  i 

\ 

XXI  ' 

''Tell  me— does  the  moon  shine  brightly,  ! 

As  of  yore  she  blessed  us  nightly,  \ 

In  the  garden  of  the  palace  ?  \ 

And  the  fountain — Venus,  quaffing  j 

Of  the  drops  that  trembled  laughing  j 

From  the  chalice?  \ 


28      MEREMELODIES  j 

XXII 

"Tell  me — do  the  simple  daisies  ] 

Still  unveil  their  haloed  faces, 

Maid-like,  on  their  grassy  pillow? 
And  the  dove  that  made  her  nest  there, 
Comes  she  still  at  noon  to  rest  there,  , 

In  the  willow? 


XXIII  \ 

"O  the  lilies  tall  and  slender!  i 

O  the  roses,  and  the  tender  i 

Beauty  of  the  sweet  narcissus!  i 

O  the  breeze  that,  soft  and  fragrant,  \ 

Wafted  by — an  amorous  vagrant  ; 

Throwing  kisses!  ' 

XXIV 

"O  the  days  and  nights  of  beauty,  j 

Ere  the  hell  that  men  call  duty  i 

Light  and  life  together  banished.  I 

Duty — ugly,  grim,  repulsive  j 

Duty!    All  that  filled  life  full,  save  i 

Love,  has  vanished !  ' 


MERE    MELODIES      29 


XXV 

"Lost! — Love  stript  of  all  her  raiment- 
Lost!— And  what  is  gained  in  payment? 

Is  the  kingdom  safer,  stronger? 
Is  it  worth  two  young  lives  blasted 
That  the  throne  and  crown  have  lasted 
One  day  longer  ? 

XXVI 

"Gold  of  love  for  tinsel  glitter- 
Nay,  'tis  childish  to  grow  bitter 

In  an  hour  fulfilled  with  sweetness: 
Hour  of  all  earth's  hours  supernal, 
Merging  into  Heaven's  eternal 
Glad  completeness! 


xxvii 
"  Sweet,  the  morning  light  encroaches, 
See — how  fast  the  day  approaches!" 

"Nay,  dear  love,  night's  fallen  newly: 
Day  is  scarcely  yet  o'ershaded!" 
"Love! — it  dawned  as  twilight  faded!" 
Ay,  most  truly 


30      MERE    MELODIES 

XXVIII 

Day  has  come — she  cannot  share  it — 
Day  has  dawned  in  one  dark  garret! 
But  the  leaden,  dead  night  presses 
On  the  weeping  girl  who  lingers, 
Printing  on  cold  lips  and  fingers 
Vain  caresses! 

XXIX 

Darkness  cloaks  the  royal  palace, 
But  along  the  tortuous  alleys 

Seems  a  blacker  night  to  hover, 
Where,  behind  a  lowly  portal, 
Lies  a  maid  with  all  that's  mortal 
Of  her  lover! 

XXX 

Back  thro'  winding  ways  unholy. 
Rides  the  princess,  slowly — slowly; 

Dead  to  scorn — too  pure  for  censure. 
But  unseen,  a  spirit-rider 
Finds  his  heaven  close  beside  her, 
Peradventure ! 


MERE    MELODIES      31 


THE  BOAST  OF  FRANgOIS  VILLON 

T,  VILLON,  Bachelor  of  Arts, 

-■-  Who  rhyme  of  wine  and  love  and  hate, 

Am  king  of  poets.  Knave  of  Hearts, 

Light  laureate  of  the  fools  of  Fate! 

Last  night,  I  drank  too  deep — I  ate 
Too  coarse  and  sang  too  loud — what  for? 

In  all  my  moods,  at  any  rate, 
I  never  praised  the  hell  called  War! 

I'd  stab  a  cook  to  steal  her  tarts, 

Cozen  a  king  to  kiss  his  mate, 
Play  in  one  drama  many  parts 

My  greed  for  your  applause  to  sate! 

With  song  have  I  burst  through  the 
gate 
Of     Murder — battered      Gold's     barred 
door — 

Yet,  though  of  lies  and  rape  I'd  prate, 
I  never  praised  the  hell  called  War! 


32      MERE    MELODIES 

My  sword  from  out  its  scabbard  starts 

To  help  the  small,  to  balk  the  great; 
My  bosom  burns,  my  eyelid  smarts, 

When  Virtue  sinks  disconsolate. 

My  Muse  will  rise  in  high  debate 
For  Love  and  Lady,  barn  and  store ; 

Honor  I  sing,  the  King,  the  State — 
I  never  praised  the  hell  called  War! 

l'envoi 
Prince!    Though  my  often-beaten  pate 

Drips  sense  or  nonsense  with  its  gore. 
Think  this  of  me,  at  death's  drear  date — 

I've  never  praised  the  hell  called  War! 


MERE    MELODIES      33 


A  NOTION 

THE  things  I  have  lost  are  the  things 
that  have  made  my  Ufe — 
The  joys  I  have  missed  and  the  treas- 
ures Fve  given  away — 
The    home    I    have    known    not,  —  the 
shadowy,  ideal  wife, 
And   the  ghost  children   climbing  my 
knees  at  the  close  of  the  day; 
The  heights  I  have  longed  for,  but,  crip- 
pled, have  stopped  at  the  base; 
The  battle  ungained,  and  the  far,  un- 
attainable goal — 
The  things  I  have  gained  are  but  chattels 
that  laugh  in  my  face, 
But   the   things   I   have   lost   are   the 
things  that  have  fashioned  my  soul ! 


34      MERE    MELODIES 


A  BALLADE  TO  ORDER 

A  RHYME  for  you,  O  lady  mine? 
Why,  all  my  rhymes  are  done  that 
way; 
For  you  I  gather  flowers,  and  twine 
The  blooms  of  June,  the  buds  of  May. 
Each  verse  I  scribble,  day  by  day. 
Is  written  with  your  tastes  in  view — 

Each  is,  or  be  it  grave  or  gay, 
A  rhyme  for  you. 

A  rhyme  for  you  ?     Why,  every  line 

Is  yours  already — roundelay. 
Or  sonnet  sad,  or  fancy  fine. 

Or  jesting  jingle's  joyous  play. 

Of  course,  I  do  these  things  for  pay. 
But  are  they  less  yours  if  I  do .? 

I  sell  to  others  what  must  stay 
A  rhyme  for  you. 


MERE    MELODIES      35 


A  rhyme  for  you  ?     Well,  maid  divine, 

Since  you  insist,  I  must  obey. 
Lo,  here  I  kneel  before  your  shrine, 

And  bask  in  beauty's  brilliant  ray! 

Your  eyes  of  blue — ^what's   that  you 
say? 
Your  eyes  are  gray,  and  never  blue? 

That's    so,    but    how    can    one    make 
"gray" 
A  rhyme  for  "you"? 

A  rhyme  for  you  ?     All  rhymes  convey 
The  selfsame  meaning,  always  true; 

Three  words  explain  each  one.     And  they 
Are  "I'm  for  you!" 


36      MERE    MELODIES 

CONSERVATION 

WHEN  we  have  gone  the  darkened 
way  that  everybody  must — 
When  you  are  but  a  lump  of  clay,  and  I  a 

heap  of  dust; 
When,  after  many  a  century,  we  two  have 

dreamless  slept, 
Where  will  the  joys  I  prayed  for  be — or 
where  the  woes  you  wept? 

We  stew  and  sweat  and  struggle  on,  and 

waste  so  many  tears. 
And  strain  our  eyes  to  see  a  dawn  that 

only  dawns  in  years; 
We  labor  for  the  thing  that  we  and  only 

we  can  use — 
It  comes!     But  for  whose  good  shall  be 

the  thing  that  we  must  lose  ? 


MERE    MELODIES      37 


What  happens   to   the   effort  vast   that 

bears  fruit  after  death? 
How  shall  I  smell  the  rose  at  last,  when 

God  has  stopped  my  breath? 
What  is  the  use  of  all  you  do  for  what 

must  come  too  late — 
Unless  the  Lord  shall  give  it  you  beyond 

the  darkened  gate  ? 


38      MERE    MELODIES 


THE  LONESOMEST 

THE  desert  waste  is  not  the  loneliest 
place, 
Nor  the  mid-ocean,  nor  the  mountain's 
crest, — 
Ay,   these   are   lonely  spots   for  men   to 
face. 
But  not  the  loneliest. 

One  feels  alone  amid  the  bustling  crowd 
Of  strangers  in  strange  cities,  too — but 
not 
So  much  alone,   though   Silence   shrieks 
aloud. 
As  in  one  lonely  spot 

I  know  of.    'Tis  the  place  youVe  visited 
Once,  with  a  Loved  One — sometime, 
anywhere — 

And  visit  once  again,  when  years  are  fled, 
And  that  One  is  not  there! 


MERE    MELODIES 


39 


BALLADE  OF  EASTER  DAWN 

THE   gaunt    trees    black    and    naked 
stand, 
And  crackle,  as  the  wind  sweeps  by; 
Their  boles  break  the  horizon,  and 
Their  branches  arabesque  the  sky. 
It  is  the  dark  hour.     Shivering  lie 
The  herds,  in  silence  ominous — 

Then  dawn  breaks,  and  there  sounds 
the  cry 
Of  "Resurrexit  DominusT 

Creeps  then  a  soft  light  o'er  the  strand. 

And  dawn-birds  preen  their  wings  to 
fly. 
Across  the  graying  east,  a  band 

Of  brightness  stretches,  broad  and  high. 

The  early  breezes  cease  to  sigh — 
A  quiet,  holy  calm  in  us 

Prepares  us  for  the  gladsome  cry 
Of  "Resurrexit  Dominus!" 


40      MEREMELODIES  ; 

Then,  sunrise!     And  across  the  land  j 

Cloud-tints  and  flower-colors  vie;  i 

Earth  glows  with  life  at  His  command —  ' 

The  glory  of  the  Lord  is  nigh ! 

A  new  world  born  before  the  eye,  I 

Heaven  sheds  its  quickening  balm  on  us,  ! 

And  angels'  voices  chant  the  cry  j 

Of  "Resurrexit  Dominus!"  i 

Lord !     In  a  night  our  winters  die  j 

And  spring  inspires  her  psalm  in  us;  j 

Death  yields  to  immortality —  ! 
"Sic  Resurrexit  DominusT 


MERE    MELODIES      41 


UNDAUNTED 

I  NOTICED  how  the  birds  forgot 
That  Nature,  but  a  while  ago, 
Stripped  all  their  leaves  away — and  what 
She  left  she  wrapped  in  shrouds  of  snow. 

For  they  responded,  in  the  Spring, 

To  her  first  call  as  eagerly 
As  if  her  blows  of  chastening 

Had  ne'er  despoiled  a  single  tree! 

The  birds  forgot  their  exile  harsh. 
And  hurried  to  their  woods  again — 

The  blackbird  to  his  thawing  marsh, 
The  redbreast  to  the  haunts  of  men. 

O  Thou  who  turned  away  thy  face 

And  drove  me  forth  with  winter — Thou 

Seest,  Lord  Love,  how  for  thy  grace 
I  still  return!    Spring  beckons  now! 


MERE    MELODIES 


UNKNOWN 

DOST  thou   love  me?"  said  Death; 
and  I  shuddered,  and  cried,  "I  do 
not!" 
And  he  smiled  and   replied,   "I   shall 
ask  thee  that  question  again. 
In  the  day  when  thy  lust  after  phantoms 
and  toys  is  forgot 
In  the  wonder  of  what  I  can  give — I 
shall  ask  of  thee  then." 


And  I  said,  "  I  have  known  thee  too  well 
to  be  lover  of  thine." 
But  he  answered,   "What  word  hast 
thou  then  from  thy  friends  in  my 
thrall?" 
I  was  silent.     He  whispered  again,  ''In 
the  day  thou  art  mine 
Thou  shalt  love  me — they  hate  me  who 
never  have  known  me  at  all." 


MERE    MELODIES      43 

AN  ABANDONED  QUARRY 

HERE  was  a  quiet  hillside,  once  in  the 
days  gone  by, 
A  wide,  green  strip  from  the  river's  lip 

to  the  azure  deeps  of  sky; 
The  ivy  covered  the  boulders,  the  pines 

grew  tall  between. 
And    the   moss    spread   o'er   the   granite 
floor  with  a  carpet  of  softer  green. 

Here  came  men  with  their  engines — oh,  it 

was  long  ago — 
And  the  hill's  attire  with  ax  and  fire  was 

stripped  to  the  rock  below; 
They  hewed  at  the  very  framework,  till 

under  the  startled  stars 
The  hill  lay  stark  with  the  human  mark 

of  ugly  and  grievous  scars. 

Still  they  sweated  and  labored,  many  and 
many  a  day. 

Blasting  and  sawing,  heaving  and  draw- 
ing, riving  the  rocks  away. 


44      MERE    MELODIES 

Till  they  robbed  the  hill  of  its  treasure, 
and  little  was  left  to  gain — 

There  were  gaping  pits  and  shattered 
splits,  when  man  gave  up  his  reign. 

They  left  it  gaunt  and  squalid — yes,  it 

was  long  ago; 
Then  the  grass  crept  back  by  a  secret 

track,  and  the  trees  began  to  grow, 
And  the  vines  came  back  to  their  labor, 

to  curtain  the  naked  walls. 
And   the   hidden   spring   helped   on   the 

thing  with  a  series  of  waterfalls. 

Ah,  they  were  wise  and  tender,  the  ivy 

and  pines  and  moss! 
The  crudest  tear  was  a  background  rare 

for  their  brushes  to  sweep  across ; 
The  old-time   hill  was   lovely,  but  this 

of  the  later  time 
Has  a  rugged  grace  on  its  furrowed  face 

that  makes  it  a  thing  sublime! 


MERE    MELODIES      45 


Here  is  a  wondrous  hillside,  richer  by  far 

today 
Than  when  man  came  with  his  pick  and 

flame  and  took  its  riches  away! 
And  wrapped  in  a  higher  beauty,  as  hills 

and  hearts  still  are, 
A  lovelier  thing  than  in  that  far  spring 

ere  ever  it  bore  a  scar! 


46      MERE    MELODIES 

A  MERE  THEORY 

DID  spring  never  come — did  the  sea- 
sons 
Not  change,  and  the  winters  not  pass, 
Would  love  have  its  martyrs  and  trea- 
sons ? 
Would  a  lad  give  his  life  for  a  lass  ? 
Would  hearts  break?     Would  men  take 
damnation 
In  change  for  a  summer  of  bliss? 
Would  a  maid  give  her  sweet  soul's  sal- 
vation 
In  fee  for  a  kiss? 

Did  sunsets  not  glisten,  I  wonder, 

Were  roses  not  red,  nor  skies  blue, 
Would  suffering  put  us  asunder. 

Or  loving  unite  me  and  you  ? 
Did  the  Maker  of  Worlds  never  fashion 

Green  trees  and  white  blossoms  that 
fall. 
Would  sorrowing  move  us,  or  passion 

Make  slaves  of  us  all  ? 


MERE    MELODIES      47 

I  dreamed  of  a  world  without  color, 

Where  sunrise  came  never,  nor  spring; 
All  gray,  like  a  cloud-mist,  and  duller 

Than  deserts,  with  no  birds  to  sing. 
All  faces  were  blank — not  despairing. 

Nor  joyful — not  happy  nor  sad — 
Unlovely,  unhoping,  uncaring 

For  good  fate  or  bad ! 

And  I  prayed,  "O  God,  grant  them  one 
flower 
Whose  perfume  may  rouse  them  from 
sleep ! 
Though  it  wither  and  fade  in  an  hour. 

Perchance  they  may  miss  it,  and  weep; 
And  weeping  may  bring  them  to  laughter, 

And  day  will  burst  in  on  their  night, 
Till  with  grief,  and  the  love  that  comes 
after. 
They  win  to  the  Light!" 


48      MERE    MELODIES 

And  I  woke,  and  was  glad  of  the  day- 
time— 
Gave    thanks    for    the    autumn    and 
spring — 
For  the  loves  that  are  born  in  the  May- 
time 
And  Septembers  that  teach  us  to  sing. 
And  I  said,  '*We  should  lose  more,  and 
win  less, 
Though  sadness  and  pain  were  forgot. 
In  a  bleak  world,  cold,  sunless  and  sinless, 
Where  Beauty  is  not!" 


MEREMELODIES      49  ; 

i 

A  PAGAN  LOVE  | 

THE  gods  were  angry  with  Babette.  1 

(With  glad  Babette — our  mad  Bab-  ! 

ette!)  ; 

For  that  each  mortal  man  she  met  ; 

Forgot  whatever  gods  he  knew!  ] 

Ah !     Easy,  easy  to  forget,  j 

O  glad  Babette,  O  mad  Babette!  i 

Both  maids  and  gods — and  laws  that  fret,  I 

And  just  remember  you!  I 


The  gods  were  angry  with  the  maid —  1 

(The    maid    they  made — the    goddess 

maid)  i 

The  gods  were  angry  and  afraid  j 

She'd  steal  their  every  worshiper; 
So  they  took  counsel  to  degrade  j 

The    goddess    maid     themselves    had  | 

made — 
To  ask  the  gifts  to  be  repaid 

Themselves  had  given  her!  1 


50      MERE    MELODIES 

And  so  the  gods,  who  were  to  blame, 

Brought  bhght  and  shame  upon  her 
name ; 
What  care  the  high  gods  for  the  fame 

Of  them  who  make  their  own  fame  dim  ? 
They  broke  her  heart  to  play  their  game — 

(In  virtue's  name  they  wrought  this 
shame !) 
And  even  the  Httle  love-god  came 

And  carried  tears  with  him ! 

The  gods  were  angry  with  Babette — 

(With  sad  Babette — our  bad  Babette!) 
And  crushed  she  lies,  and  broken — yet 

I  know  what  I  am  fain  to  do; 
Though  on  thy  ruin  they  are  set, 

I  dare  forget,  O  sad  Babette !  - 
Forswear  them  all,  without  regret, 

And  follow  only  you! 


MERE    MELODIES      51 


IN  APRIL 

IN  April  time,  the  lazy  rhyme 
Rings    clearer,    like    a    church-tower 
chime. 
And  March's  snows  with  limping  prose 
Are  all  deserted,  for  the  time. 


In  April  time,  the  slush  and  slime. 
The   frost  and   frights,    the   gloom   and 
grime. 
The  breeze  that  blows  to  freeze  the 
nose 
Are  all  forgot,  in  April  time ! 

In  April  time,  when  Spring's  at  prime, 
We  live  within  some  tropic  clime — 

We  lie  and  doze  and  scorn  our  foes. 
And  live  with  friends,  in  April  time! 


52      MERE    MELODIES 

In  April  time,  the  world's  sublime, 
There's  no  such  thing  as  sin  or  crime — 
The  brook  that  flows  sweet  peace  be- 
stows 
And  sunshine  glows  in  April  time! 

In  April  time,  my  darling,  Fm 
A  marionette,  a  dancing  mime — 

I  prink,  I  pose,  I  point  my  toes — 
And  you're  a  rose — in  April  time ! 


MERE    MELODIES      53 


I 


A  LETTER 

PLUCKED  a  violet  to-day— 
The    first    that    I    have    seen    this 
spring,— 
And  laid  it  carefully  away. 

Twill  be  a  scentless,  withered  thing 
To-morrow — yet  it  must  remain 
Hidden,  till  you  come  home  again. 

Fve  found  a  little  restaurant 

That  no  one  that  we  know  has  found. 
I  keep  the  secret,  for  I  want 

That  place  to  be  our  trysting  ground. 
Not  even  I  alone  will  roam 
Back  to  that  street— till  you  come  home! 

Old  Smith  has  lent  me,  from  his  shelf, 
His  rarest,  most  dehcious  book; 

And  I  have  not  allowed  myself 
One  Uttle  surreptitious  look 

Between  its  covers — lest  we  lack 

One  mutual  joy,  when  you  come  back! 


54      MERE    MELODIES 


I  wrote  a  song  I  liked,  last  night,  ! 

But  did  not  send  it  as  I  should;  | 

I'm  loath  to  have  it  see  the  light  j 

Till  you  pronounce  it  bad  or  good.  \ 

Ah,  love !     Song,  spring — ay,  life  is  dumb  > 

And  cannot  speak  until  you  come!  ; 


MERE    MELODIES      55 


BALLADE  OF  THE  "AWKWARD 
AGE" 

TT  7HEN  skirts  are  lengthened  past  the 
^  ^       knees, 

And  curls  are  prisoned  in  a  braid- 
When  any  close  observer  sees 

A  coltish  length  of  limb  displayed; 

When  needless  blushes  glow  and  fade, 
And  heedless  laughter  ebbs  and  flows. 

That  is  the  age  girls  can't  evade — 
Too  old  for  dolls,  too  young  for  beaux! 

Full  of  small  fears  and  jealousies, 

Timid,  and  easily  dismayed; 
As  changeful  as  an  April  breeze — 

Brazenly  modest,  wildly  staid; 

Pickles  and  soda,  lemonade. 
Romantic  friendships — deathless  foes — 

With  such  weird  toys  her  games  are 
played, 
Too  old  for  dolls,  too  young  for  beaux! 


56      MERE    MELODIES 

With  others  never  at  her  ease, 

Alone,  her  freaks  aside  are  laid. 
And  all  her  graceless  gaucheries 

Leave  her,  no  longer  on  parade. 

What  dreams  are  these  of  flashing  blade 
And    prince    and    prancing    steed — who 
knows  ? 

What  poems  conned,  what  hopes  be- 
trayed— 
Too  old  for  dolls — too  young  for  beaux? 

l'envoi 
Princess  uncrowned!    Let  it  be  prayed 
That,  as  your  springtime  fancy  goes. 
You   find   Him  worth   the  vows  you've 

paid — 
When  you're  no  longer,  little  maid. 
Too  old  for  dolls,  too  young  for  beaux! 


MERE    MELODIES      57 


WONDERING 

WHEN  today  goes, 
May  goes — 
May,  with  all  her  freaks  and  fancies, 
Wiles  and  wondrous  necromancies; 
May,  that  clothed  the  bare  boughs  for  us. 
May,  that  scattered  blossoms  o'er  us 
To  the  mating  birds'  love  chorus — 

May  dies, 
When  today  dies! 

As  a  tune's  born, 

June's  born. 
Like  a  lazy,  swaying  measure, 
June  comes,  pouring  out  the  treasure 
And  the  wealth  of  her  adorning; 
April  was  the  year-dawn's  warning, 
Maytime  was  its  brilliant  morning — 

June-time 
Is  its  noontime! 


58      MEREMELODIES  I 

As  all  things  go, 

Springs  go.  ) 

Summers  come,  and  winters  kill  them;  ^ 

Birds  sing,  and  the  snowstorms  still  them.  | 

Love,  that's  born  of  April  weather,  ! 

Frosts  will  slay.     I  wonder  whether  '■ 

Ours  will  last  a  year  together  ^ 

Springs  die — 
Do  all  things  die? 


MERE    MELODIES      59 


THE  SUPREME  MOMENT 

COULD  I  fold  up  the  book  of  the 
Present 
To-night,  and  steal  back  through  the 

gloaming, 
As  a  dove  flutters  back  to  its  homing, 
Wing-weary,     wide-wandered      and 
worn ; 
Could  the  past  open  arms  to  receive  me 
I  would  go,  not  to  boyhood,  believe  me. 
Not  to  childhood,  and  not  to  the  pleasant 
Dream    country   of   young   Life-at- 
Morn; 

And  I  know  I  would  not  seek  the  places 
Where   First  Love  her  pure  bud  un- 
folded. 
Nor  stay  where  her  blossom  was  molded 

To  feed  the  fierce  flame  of  Desire; 
And  I  would  not  return  to  the  fashion 
Of  folly  and  pleasure  and  passion, 
Nor  seek  to  revive  the  old  faces. 
And  kindle  anew  the  old  fire. 


6o      MERE    MELODIES 

All  these  I  would  leave  far  behind  me — 
The  pain  and  the  pride  and  the  pleas- 
ure, 
The  triumphs  of  life,  and  the  treasure 

Of  love  and  the  heartbeats  of  youth; 
I  would  ask  not  a  moment  for  laughter, 
For  strife,  and  the  peace  that  comes 
after. 
Nor  the  wealth  of  the  world  that  would 
blind  me 
To  the  light  of  the  spirit  of  truth. 

But  oh!    I  would  know,  when  I  found  it. 
The  garden  I  walked  in,  one  morning. 
Half  way  between  daylight  and  dawn- 
ing, 
In  grass  that  was  heavy  with  dew; 
(As  my  eyes  had  been  heavy  with  weep- 
ing, 
Wide  open  all  night,  and  unsleeping.) 
A  garden  with  high  walls  around  it 

And    trees    where    the    light    sifted 
through. 


MERE    MELODIES      6i 

For  there  as  I  wandered,  unheeding, 
Unhappy,  unthinking  and  bitter. 
My  dull  eyes  were  caught  by  a  glitter 

Of  light  in  the  heart  of  a  rose ; 
I  marked  how  the  wet  petals  glistened — 
Then  my  ears  grew  acute,  and  I  listened 
To  a  voice  that  seemed  praying  and  plead- 
ing— 
What  voice  I   knew  not,   but  God 
knows. 

So  I  stopped  and  I  looked  and  I  heark- 
ened. 
And   the   sunlight  came  brighter  and 

brighter, 
Till    it    seemed    that   my    spirit   grew 
lighter. 
And  my  heart  was  unburdened  of 
wrong. 
As  a  bird-note,  a  wind-note,  a  tree-note 
Combined,   and   the   three   struck  the 
keynote 
Then  the  world,  in  an  instant  undarkened, 
Burst  forth  in  a  triumph  of  song! 


62      MERE    MELODIES 

And  I  understood,  and  joined  in  it, 
Each  pulse  beating  time  to  the  meter, 
Each  throb  growing  finer  and  sweeter, 

As  some  new  tone  leapt  into  birth; 
Till  the  myriad  notes  all  agreed  to 
Strike  the  one  chord  that  all  things  are 
keyed  to — 
And,  in  that  ineffable  minute, 

I  was  one  with  the  whole  of  the  earth ! 

And  all  my  life  long  I  have  waited, 
Unmindful  of  guerdon  or  laurel. 
To  hear  just  one  strain  of  that  choral. 

And  join  in  that  music  once  more; 
I  have  sung,  but  the  notes  were  all 

broken. 
The  depths  of  the  song  still  unspoken. 
The  longing  unheeded,  unsated — 
It  will  never  return  as  before. 


MERE    MELODIES      63 


Just  once,  ere  the  clouds  rise  before  me, 
And  the  many-oared  Galley  of  Silence 
Bears  me  off  to  the  Fortunate  Islands- 
Just  once,  and  no  more,  I  shall  pray 
That  the  gods  give  me   this  for  my 

warning — 
One  glimpse  of  the  joy  of  that  morning; 
Let  the  waves  of  world-music  roll  o'er  me 
As  they  did  on  that  wonderful  day! 


64      MERE    MELODIES 

BETTER  FAITH 

SOME  people  think  that  God,  my  Lord, 
Comes  not  until  He  is  invited ; 
As  if  Omniscience  could  afford 

To    stand     outside     and     think    he's 
slighted ! 

As  if  my  Lord  would  come  not  in 

Like  winds  and  rose-scents,  blithe,  un- 
daunted! 

As  if  a  Saviour  could  begin 

To  grouch  because  He  wasn't  wanted! 

I  did  not  ask  thee,  Lord,  to  place 
Thy  foot  across  my  prideful  portal — 

Yet  thou  wilt  come,  if  by  the  grace 
Of  God  thou'rt  something  more  than 
mortal ! 


MERE    MELODIES      65 


THE  WAY  OF  HOPE 

TT  TE  call  the  season  late, 

^  ^     Or  complain  it  comes  too  soon; 
But  in  the  spring,  the  birds  still  mate, 

And  we  see  the  changing  moon. 
Surprise-days  know  their  reason. 

Each  summer  hath  its  fall — 
Did  you  ever  know  a  season 

That  didn't  come  at  all? 

The  dawn  of  morning  waits. 

The  dawn  of  love  delays ; 
Life  with  its  luring  oversates — 

Death  threatens — and  betrays! 
But  did  you  ever  know  an  end 

Of  pleasures  that  enthrall — 
Death,  winter,  or  an  untrue  friend 

That  never  came  at  all  ? 


66      MERE    MELODIES 

The  old  world  whirls  around, 

The  pendulum  swings  back 
The  thawing  glebe,  the  frozen  ground. 

The  harvest,  or  its  lack; 
But  we,  who  feel  hell's  hopeless  stress, 

Its  wormwood  and  its  gall. 
Cannot  believe  our  happiness 

May  never  come  at  all! 


MERE    MELODIES      67 
MAKING  THE  BEST  OF  IT 

("I  have  been  half  in  love  with  easeful  Death.") 

AS  one  who,  wedded  for  convenience' 
^tl.     sake, 

Must  try  to  make  his  wayward  heart 
forget 

The  dear  desire  on  which  its  hope  was  set ; 
And,  after  struggHng  with  himself  to  make 
A  virtue  of  necessity,  can  take 

Pleasure  in  his  new  part,  still  the  regret, 

And  finally  win  to  a  joy  that  yet 
He  had  not  dreamed  in  sleep,  or  hoped 
awake — 

So  I  who,  with  a  passion  overfond. 

Clung  to  and  loved  and  lusted  after  Life, 
Now  getting  one  clear  message  from  be- 
yond. 
That  I  must  shortly  take  cold  Death 
to  wife, 
Grow  used  to  her,  and  walking  at  her  side 
Become  enamored  of  my  unsought  bride! 


68      MERE    MELODIES 


FEBRUARY  23 

XT  THEN  Death  shall  touch  me  with 
^  ^    his  kindly  hand, 
And  beckon  me  to  take  his  wondrous  way 
Through  the  deep  shadows  to  the  larger 
day,— 
If  he  shall  ask  me  where  in  all  that  land 
I  choose  to  tarry,  I  shall  understand 
That  I  am  free.    I  know  what  I  shall  say; 
I  know  how  eagerly  my  soul  shall  pray 
To  go  and  seek  that  spacious  realm  and 
grand — 

That  leafy  forest  of  old  Arcady, 

Where  nightingales  make  melody,  and 

where 
The  Hamadryads  have  their  cool  re- 
treats; 
Where  fair  Hyperion  and  Endymion  be. 
And  Pan  yet  lives  immortally.    And  there 
Enthroned   and   laureled    I    shall   find 
John  Keats! 


MERE    MELODIES      69 


THE  MAGICIANS 

WHAT  do  we  care  for  sunny  or  wintry 
weather, 
Comrades  of  mine,  fair  printed  and  bound 

in  leather? 
Tempests  may  come  and  thunders  may 

crash  and  clatter. 
Snows  may  descend  and  cover  the  flowers 

— what  matter? 
We  make  our  own  fair  days  when  we  get 

together! 

Answer  me,  Burns!  Does  the  black  frost 
blight  your  heather? 

Answer  me,  Keats!  Does  your  nightin- 
gale moult  a  feather? 

Winter,  forsooth!  We  speak,  and  the 
robins  chatter! 

What  do  we  care  ? 


70      MERE    MELODIES 

Comrades  of  mine,  whose  spirits  death 

could  not  tether — 
Ye  are  as  gods,  whose  power  is  constant, 

whether 
Rains  fall  or  snows!    You  sing  and  the 

storm  clouds  scatter; 
One  Uttle  song,  and  I  hear  the  June  rains 

patter. 
You  in  the  upper  world,  and  I  in  the 

nether — 
What  do  we  care  ? 


MERE    MELODIES      71 

JUNE 

JUNE! 
What  wonderful  thing  thou  canst  be! 
What  a  magic  is  made  by  thy  moon — 
What  a  mystery  floats  on  thy  sea! 
How  we  love  thee,  yet  know  thee  not — 
we 
Who  are  mazed  by  thy  mystical  boon, 

Explain  us  thy  power,  ere  thou  flee — 
June! 

June! 

It  is  naught  that  we  hear  or  we  see: 
It  strikes  us  at  midnight  or  noon, 

Thy  secret,  mysterious  plea. 

We  bend  an  idolatrous  knee 
To  thy  dreamy,  ineffable  tune, 

We  are  witched,  we  are  conjured  by 
thee, 
June ! 


72      MERE    MELODIES 

June! 

Thou  art  fragrant  and  fearless  and  free ! 
Thou  hummest  a  lullaby  rune 

And  thou  takest  regret  for  thy  fee! 

The  weird  that  each  lover  must  dree — 
It  Cometh  too  soon — ah!  too  soon! 

Thou  art  swift,  thou  art  sweet — what 
is  he, 
June  ? 

The  Princess  Fm  longing  for — she 
May  wait  where  the  nightingales  croon. 
Wilt  help,  if  she's  longing  for  me, 
June  ? 


MERE    MELODIES      73 


THE  INTERPRETERS 

I  NEVER  heard  a  nightingale 
Pour  forth  her  music  to  the  dark; 
I  never  heard  an  EngHsh  lark 
Tell  to  the  dawn  her  blissful  tale. 
I  only  know  the  piping  quail, 

The  sparrows,  chirping  in  the  park, 
The  chattering  bluejay's  raucous  bark. 
The  mimic  catbird's  drawling  wail. 

And  yet,  though  I  have  never  heard 
Their  notes — now  in  the  winter  time 

I  know  each  golden-throated  bird, 
And  all  its  melody  sublime; 

Hark!    Shelley's  Lark  the  song  repeats! 

Answers  the  Nightingale  of  Keats! 


74      MERE    MELODIES 

THE  LOST  ESTATE 

ONCE  on  a  time,  ere  the  summer  was 
ended, 
All  of  the  colors  of  sunset  were  blended 
Just  for  my  joy;    and  the  dawnlight 

came  glowing 
Just  to  delight  me — the  summer  breeze 
blowing 
Was  my  own  servant,  that  loyal  attended. 

Don't  you  remember,  as  homeward  we 

wended, 
(Ere  the  hearts  broke  that  can  never  be 
mended) 
We  dubbed  ''our  estate"  all  the  green 
things  a-growing, 
Once  on  a  time  ? 


MERE    MELODIES      75 

Ours  no  more  now.    Some  stern  god  we've 

offended; 
Well — it  is  well;    they're  no  longer  so 
splendid — 
Crops  in  the  sowing,  and  little  streams 

flowing, 
Cattle  low  lowing  and   distant  cocks 
crowing, 
Whisper  not,  smile  not,  the  tale  that  they 
then  did. 
Once  on  a  time! 


^e      MERE    MELODIES 


THE  POET 

THE  world  was  beautiful  before  his 
eyes — 
It  gave  him  youth  and  happiness  and 

Spring: 
And  for  these  generous  gifts  he  tried  to 
sing 
A  song  of  thankfulness.     But,  cold  and 

wise, 
The  world  was  only  moved  to  criticise 
The  boyish  errors  of  his  caroling. 
Then  the  world  gave  him  love.     And 
for  this  thing 
Again  he  sang — to  unresponsive  skies. 


MERE    MELODIES      ^^ 

Then  spun  the  earth  about  and  broke  his 
heart, 
Withdrew  her  gifts  and  did  him  bitter 
wrong, 
And  ere  he  died,  his  poet's  soul  or- 
dained 
One  last  essay  of  his  rejected  art. 

And,  in  the  anguished  sweetness  of  that 
song 
All  he  had  lost  the  world  that  crushed 
him  gained! 


78      MERE    MELODIES 


REGAINED 

I  DREAMT  that  I  had  passed  beyond 
the  night, 
To  where  the  morning  gives  us  back 

again 
The  things  we  mourn.     There  saw  I 
Milton,  plain. 
And  Homer,  clothed  with  more  than  mor- 
tal sight, 
Gazing  upon  each  other  in  the  light: 
Beethoven,  listening  to  the  refrain 
Of  joy  the  stars  were  singing;    freed 
from  pain, 
The  Christ  sat  in  his  kingdom,  robed  in 
white. 


MERE    MELODIES      79 

And  each  had  found  his  sweetest  Yester- 
day— 
A  woman  laughed  above  her  still-born 
child, 
That  laughed  again  with  living  eyes 
of  blue : 
And  eagerly  I  trod  the  blessed  way 
To  where  the  very  height  of  heaven 
smiled — 
And  came  upon  my  wasted  youth, 
and  You ! 


8o      MERE    MELODIES 


MAGIC 

IS  the  city  full  of  noise 
That  offends  your  weary  ear? 
Do  you  long  for  quiet  joys 
In  a  country  far  from  here  ? 
Surely,  we  can  find  it,  dear — 
You  and  I. 
Shut  your  eyes,  and  lo!  we  go 
To  the  pleasant  land  we  know, 
Underneath  our  private  sky, 
You  and  I. 

Do  you  shiver  with  the  cold — 

Shudder  with  the  north  wind's  tune? 
Let  me  have  your  hand  to  hold. 

Closer!     Presto — it  is  June! 

And  this  summer  afternoon 
You  and  I 
Own  alone.     Our  magic  words 
Conjure  bees  and  buds  and  birds! 

Who  know  Junes  that  never  fly? 
You  and  I. 


MERE    MELODIES      8i 

Is  there  naught  beneath  the  sun 

New  to  hear  or  new  to  see? 
Music  stale  and  art  ill  done  ? 

Let  the  others  weep — not  we ! 

For  we  have  a  grammarye, 
You  and  I, 
That  can  make  the  old  tunes  new 
And  the  whole  world  fair  to  view — 

We've  what  riches  cannot  buy, 
You  and  I. 

Love's  a  land  inhabited 

By  its  two  Hege  lords  alone; 
Love's  a  June  whose  roses  red 

Fade  not,  though  the  year  has  flown. 

Love's  a  world  that  we  may  own, 
You  and  I ; 
And  the  music  of  a  heart 
And  the  beauty,  strange  to  art. 

That  we  know  can  never  die, 
You  and  I ! 


82      MERE    MELODIES 


A  TWILIGHT  FANCY 

IT  is  the  twilight  tryst,  when  Day  meets 
Night, 
And  stops  to  kiss  her,  ere  he  goes  his 
way; 
The  silent  world  stands  breathless  at  the 
sight. 
And  tries  to  hear  the  words  the  lovers 
say. 

Lo!  in  that  large  embrace  the  two  are 
one — 
One  for  an  instant,  then  the  Day  is 
gone. 
Then  Night  keeps  lonely  vigil  for  the 
sun — 
She  knows  that  they  will  meet  again, 
at  dawn ! 


MERE    MELODIES      83 


A  TYPE 

TTER  soul  is  the  soul  of  a  Maltese  kit- 
-■-  -'■    ten — 

A  kitten  that  loves  to  be  petted  and 
fed; 
That    begs    a    caress    till    your   heart   is 
smitten 
With  tenderness,  as  you  stroke  its  head; 
That  never  will  follow  you  through  bad 
weather — 
Only  in  comfort  she  cuddles  and  purrs. 
Soul?     We'll  ignore    such  a   thing   alto- 
gether— 
But  oh !    That  exquisite  body  of  hers ! 

Her  mind   is   the   mind  of  an   innocent 
savage, 
Logicless,  formless,  but  full  of  guile. 
You  argue  in  vain,  for  she  knows  she  can 
ravage 
The  whole  of  your  love  with  one  flash- 
ing smile, 


84      MERE    MELODIES 


But  her  fancies   she   states   as   positive 
knowledge, 
And  woe  be  to  you  if  you  tell  her  she 
errs ! 
Her  learning  was  gained  at  her  own  will's 
college — 
But  oh !    That  wonderful  body  of  hers ! 

Her  heart  is  the  heart  of  a  Geisha,  blended 
With  the  heart  of  a  cruel  child  at  play; 
Or  you'd  say  she  has  none,  but  it's  broken 
and  mended, 
(As  she'll  tell  you  herself)  many  times 
a  day. 
Heart  of  a  tiger,  heart  of  a  tyrant. 

That  never  a  noble  emotion  stirs ; 
To  gain  such  a  mean  thing  who'd  be  an 
aspirant — 
Except  for   that  maddening  body  of 
hers? 


MERE    MELODIES      85 

Soul,  mind,  heart — they  are  naught,  who 
shall  heed  them? 
She  has  enough  and  to  spare,  it  seems, 
Others  may  miss  them — but  she  doesn't 
need  them — 
Look  on  her  once,  and  she'll  vex  your 
dreams ! 
Cavil  we  not — be  our  wants  more  simple; 

Pagans,  we  join  with  the  worshipers 
Of  the  grand  cun^es,  joining  dimple  to 
dimple, 
That  bound  that  beautiful  body  of  hers ! 


86      MERE    MELODIES 


A  MELODY  I 

ALL  the  dooryard's  denizens, 
^tJL  Chatter  here  from  dawn  till  night, 
Twittering  wrens  and  clucking  hens,  ; 

Pigeons  gurgling  soft  delight;  ; 

Quiet  noises,  murmuring  tunes,  ' 

Lisping  whistlings,  whisperings — 
Then — that  special  voice  of  June's 

Rose-breast  Grosbeak  sings! 

\ 
Robin's  song  unheeded  flows —  j 

Here's  his  master's  melody!  I 

See  him  pose — the  rascal  knows  | 


He  can  sing,  it  seems  to  me! 
Dressed  for  concert — black-and-white — 

But  original,  at  that — 
With  his  white-and-black,  a  bright 

Rosy  red  cravat ! 


MERE    MELODIES      87 


That's  his  dress,  but  ah!  his  song! 
Who  shall  ever  tell  of  it? 

Sweet  and  strong  (but  not  for  long- 
When  the  nest  is  full,  he'll  quit). 

This  is  summer's  singing  soul, 
This  is  music's  self  on  wings; 

June  is  June,  complete  and  whole, 
When  the  Grosbeak  sings! 


88      MERE    MELODIES 


EVANESCENCE 

IB  ELI  EVE  me,  never  grieve  me 
f     When  a  happy  hour  is  ended — 
Could  I  keep  it  for  a  Hfetime,  I  would 

never  feel  its  worth : 
Did  a   sunset  last  forever,   who  would 
think  of  it  as  splendid  ? 
Would  a  lark  enjoy  his  soaring  if  he 
never  touched  the  earth? 

As  the  bliss  of  any  kiss  of 

Love  is  sweet  because  it's  fleeting. 
Oh,  be  glad  your  hour  must  end — that 

love  nor  pleasure  tarrieth! 
Oh,  rejoice  that  there  is  parting  to  create 
the  joy  of  meeting — 
And  that  Life  can  gain  its  glory  from 
the  welcome  shade  of  Death ! 


E 


MERE    MELODIES      89 


A  SONNET  OF  GUINEVERE,  THE 
QUEEN 

XCALIBUR  lies  eaten  up  with  rust, 
Arthur  and  Launcelot  are  turned 
to  clay; 
Elaine  and  Vivien  have  passed  away, 
And  Mordred  ne'er  will  break  another 

trust. 
Merlin,  the  Wizard,  is  a  heap  of  dust — 
But,   as   knights   fight  and  lightsome 

dames  betray. 
While  winter  sports  to  spoil  the  buds  of 
May, 
Queen   Guinevere   lives,   as   she  always 
must! 


90      MERE    MELODIES 

For  ah !  her  hair  is  golden  Hke  the  sun, 
And  ah!  her  bosom  is  more  white  than 
milk — 
And  ah!  her  eyes  are  like  blue  skies 
above ! 
And  we  have  wandered,  each  and  every- 
one; 
We  went  in  sackcloth,  as  she  went  in 
silk— 
And  she  has  found  the  Holy  Grail  of 
Love! 


MERE    MELODIES      91 


CLOUDED 

THE  sun  shines  and  no  clouds  are  in 
the  sky. 
A  bracing  quaUty  is  in  the  air. 
The  lake,  so  blue  and  quiet,  over  there, 
Knows  now  at  last  that  winter  has  gone  by. 
And   gleams   with    springtime    blueness; 
therefore,  I 
Finding  that  life  is  sweet  and  the  world 

fair, 
Had  felt  a  song,  and  started  to  prepare 
A  merry  lilt  of  mirth  and  jollity— 

And  then— I  heard  that  you  were  suffering. 
Somewhere,  apart  from  me.    And  then 

the  day 
Was  dull  and  dreary,  and  the  clouds 
came  creeping 
Across  the  sun.     And  there  is  naught  to 
sing— 
I  cannot  write  a  witty  verse,  nor  gay. 
While  somewhere  in  this  world  you  sit  a- 
weeping! 


92      MERE    MELODIES 

THE  TWO  SINGERS 

I 

"rpAR  away  and  long  ago,  once  upon  a 
-■-         time, 

Two  great  poets  spent  their  days  doing 
things  in  rhyme. 

One  was  old  and  one  was  young;    both 

won  royal  praise. 
Though  they  wrote  and  sang  their  songs 

in  such  different  ways. 

II 

One  knew  naught  of  wisdom — no  philos- 
ophy— 

Had  no  lesson  he  would  teach,  dogma 
none — not  he ! 

Didn't  have  a  mission — ^wondered  what 

that  meant. 
Never  wrote  a  sermon  urging  sinners  to 

repent. 


MERE    MELODIES      93 

Sang  because  he  had  to  sing — for  each 

skylark  note, 
Rising  from  his  heart  of  hearts,  crowded 

in  his  throat; 

Sang  because  the  sun  was  up — sang  as 

sing  the  birds; 
Sang  the  music  in  his  soul,  setting  it  to 

words. 

When   he   felt   like   singing,   poured   his 

blithe  strains  out. 
Having  but  a  small  idea  what  'twas  all 

about. 

But  when  he  had  finished,  wrought  with- 
out design, 

People  found  a  golden  truth,  hid  in  every 
line; 

Messages  of  hope  and  love,  faith  to  heal 

despair — 
And  the  singer  thought  that  someone  else 

must  have  put  them  there! 


94      MERE    MELODIES 

III 

Far  away  and  long  ago,  the  other  poet 

wrought 
Far  into  the  night,  to  rhyme  the  jewels 

of  his  thought. 

The  wisdom  of  the  ages  lay  within  the 

singer's  ken. 
Labored  he  to  choose  the  way  to  give  it 

unto  men. 

No  musician  he,  but  made  of  stronger, 

sterner  stuff. 
Hewing  from  the  native  rock  diamonds  in 

the  rough; 

Had  no  time  to  polish  them — long  past 

was  his  youth — 
Couldn't  stop  for  form  because  he'd  such 

a  load  of  truth. 

Yet,  when  he  had  finished — wonder  now 

at  this — 
People  found  sweet  melody  in  every  line 

of  his! 


MERE    MELODIES      95 

Phrases  smooth  as  lovers'  words,  verses 

in  such  tune 
As  a  breath  of  forest  wind  redolent  of 

June; 

Stanzas  that  went  leaping  with  a  wealth 

of  cadences 
Like  a  rippling  mountain  brook  among  the 

cedar  trees. 

Far  away  and  long  ago,  once  upon  a  time, 
Rhyme  made  one  sing  true — and  truth 
taught  the  other  Rhyme! 


96      MERE    MELODIES 


ALLOY 

IF  all  the  birds  in  all  the  trees 
In  all  the  places  where  it's  June 
Combined  their  myriad  melodies 

In  one  triumphal  tune — 
If  every  bird  was  glad  to  sing, 

And  every  man  was  glad  to  hear — 
Would  not  some  note  of  sadness  ring 
In  every  listener's  ear? 

If  all  the  tears  that  women  weep, 

And  all  that  men  refuse  to  shed 
Were  made  one  bitter  draught — as  deep 

As  graves  yawn  for  their  dead ; 
And  if  that  cup  were  mine,  to  drink 

Its  everlasting  anguish  up, 
There  still  would  be  a  taste,  I  think. 

Of  sweetness  in  the  cup ! 


MERE    MELODIES      97 

If  you  have  not  discovered  this, 

You  have  not  largely  Hved,  I  fear — 
That  spring  may  be,  with  all  her  bliss, 

The  sorrow  of  the  year ; 
And  love,  that  tempers  heart  and  brain, 

Makes  every  being  on  this  earth 
A  Httle  happy  for  his  pain. 

And  sorry  for  his  mirth ! 


98      MERE    MELODIES 


YESTERDAY 

TOMORROW  never  comes— today  is 
dull, 
Regrets  and  fears  are  all  the  two  can 
hold; 
But  yesterday — ah,  yesterday,  how  full 
Of  perfect  gold ! 

Nothing  can  spoil  it,  now;  and  every  year 
Adds  to  its  beauty,  wipes  its  tears  away, 

Like   the   dear   dead   that  death  makes 
doubly  dear 
Is  yesterday! 

God  gives  today  to  live  as  best  we  can; 

He  gives  tomorrow — only  not  to  all. 
But  yesterday's  his  finished  gift  to  man. 

Though  death  befall. 

Tomorrow  looms  in  gloom;  today's  events 
In  dragging  commonplaceness  pass 
away. 

Life's  conjugation  has  one  Perfect  Tense, 
'Tis  Yesterday! 


MERE    MELODIES      99 


THE    SOUTH   WIND 

1  THOUGHT  of  you    this   afternoon, 
sweetheart, 
O,  little  sweetheart  that  I've  lost  so 
long ! 
It  was  the  wind  that  rent  a  rose  apart 

And  minded  me  of  a  forgotten  song; 
Do  you  remember  "'Wind  and  Roses"? — 
think! 
Whatever  now  you  love,  you  loved  it 
then. 
And  at  its  simple  notes,  the  rose's  pink 
Leapt  to  your  cheeks;   I'll  sing  it  once 
again! — 

"The  South  wind  tells  his  secrets  to  the 

rose. 

She  nothing  answers,  but  she  nods  and 

smiles; 

She  nothing  answers,  but  content  he  goes 

Upon  his  way  across  midsummer  miles. 


loo    MERE    MELODIES 


He  could  not  stay,  and  yet  upon  his  wings 
And  mingled  with  the  freshness  of  his 
breath, 
The  haunting  essence  of  her  sweetness 
chngs — 
The  memory  of  her  perfume  tarrieth! 

"And   all   across    the   happy,    sun-loved 
hills 
And    all    along    the    trodden    country 
ways, 
And  through  the  crowded  cities,  where  he 
fills 
The  hearts  of  men  with  thoughts  of 
other  days ; 
Each  one  that  feels  his  breath  upon  his 
cheek 
The    tender    secret    of    his    fragrance 
knows, 
And  men  will  say— although  they  may 
not  speak — 
*0  happy  South  wind — he  hath  kissed 
arose!'" 


MERE    MELODIES     loi 

I  thought  of  you  this  afternoon,  sweet- 
heart— 
O,  Httle   sweetheart  that   I've   lost   so 
long! 
The   South  wind   rent  a   late  wild   rose 
apart, 
And  minded  me  of  a  forgotten  song. 
And  so  I  know  if  any  fragrance  fine. 

If  any  sweetness  in  my  song  endures, 
It  is  not  there  by  any  grace  of  mine — 
It  is  the  breath  of  that  last  kiss  of  yours! 


I02    MERE    MELODIES 


I 


SHAME 

KNOW  how  husband  and  wife  shall 

meet, 

When  the  parting  of  death  is  ended; 
I  can  dream  how  a  soul  finds  solace  sweet 

With  Love  and  Eternity  blended. 
I  see  how  a  friend  shall  find  his  friend, 

And  a  foe  shall  avoid  his  foe; 
How  useless  quarrels  and  wrongs  shall 
mend. 
That  have  parted  us  fiere  below. 
I  can  figure  the  erring  son's  embrace, 

And  the  joy  of  the  wounded  mother — 
But  how  shall  lovers  stand  face  to  face 
Who  have  lied  to  one  another? 


MERE    MELODIES     103 


THE  OLD  THINGS 

ONCE  I  believed  in  God.    And  then 
I  doubted  him — and  later  still 
Threw  him  away.     And  foolish  men 

Applauded  as  I  cursed;  until 
With  patient  search  for  something  lost — 

(How  many  the  same  path  have  trod!) 
Through  tears  and  fears,  at  awful  cost, 

I  found  another,  better  God. 
And  yet,  sometimes  at  night,  I  find 
The  old  one  running  in  my  mind. 

Once  I  believed  in  You.     And  then 

I  doubted  you — and  later  still 
Threw  you  away.     Unknowing  men 

Applauded  as  I  cursed  you ;   till. 
With  hopeless  search  for  something  lost, 

And  pain  that  you  know  nothing  of, 
With  youth  and  youthful  soul  the  cost, 

At  last  I  found  another  love. 
(And  yet  sometimes  in  dreams  I  start 
To  find  you  tugging  at  my  heart!) 


I04    MERE    MELODIES 
REBIRTH 

I 


SAW  the  river  hasten  to  the  sea, 
The  birds  fly  southward ;  and  the  sun 

make  haste 
To  hide  behind  the  mountains  of  the 


west —  ^ 

Apace,  apace !    And  so  it  seemed  to  me  ^ 

That  men  across  Hfe's  desolate,  stricken  i 

waste 

Were  also  hurrying — ^whither,  to  their  , 

rest?  1 

I  saw  the  ocean  fill  the  clouds,  and  swell  J 

The  rivers ;  saw  the  birds  come  back  in 
spring; 
And  after  night  the  sun  arose  again. 

'Tis  well,  ye  waters!    Works  of  God,  'tis 
well! 
Ye  go  and  come  upon  His  laboring, 
And  ye,  too,  shall  return,  ye  sons  of 
men! 


MERE    MELODIES     105 


PREMATURE 

^T^HERE'S  a  brown  leaf  on  the  maple, 
-■-       though  the  summer's  just  begun ; 
And  rusty  is  the  yellow  wheat,  and 
dusty  is  the  clover. 
The  rose  has  withered  all  too  soon  be- 
neath the  Junetime  sun. 
The  robin  has  forgot  to  sing,  though 
June  is  scarcely  over. 

The  dawn  upon  the  lawn  will  find  the 
dew  no  longer  pearly. 
The  sunset  tints  have  awful  hints  of 
autumn  in  their  hues; 
God  help  this  laboring  world  of  ours  when 
summer  comes  too  early — 
And  takes  from  us  the  joy  we  can  so  ill 
afford  to  lose ! 


io6    MERE    MELODIES 

There's  a  white  hair  in  your  head,  dear, 
though  your  Hfe  has  just  begun; 
There  are  Unes  upon  your  forehead — 
there  are  scars  upon  my  heart. 
The  things  we  should  be  doing  now,  we 
have  already  done. 
And  our  splendid  journey's  ended,  ere 
we  should  have  made  a  start! 

God  help  the  soul  that  blooms  too  young, 
the  heart  that  learns  too  quickly! 
God  pity  them  when  life  at  noon  seems 
drawing  to  its  gloaming! 
When  the  buds  that  should  be  bursting 
are  all  withered,  pale  and  sickly — 
And  tired  doves,  ere  half  their  flight,  go 
fluttering  to  their  homing! 


MERE    MELODIES     107 

ALONG  THE  BOTTOMS 

THE  day  wanes;    now  you  need  not 
dip  an  oar. 
But  let  the  sluggish  stream  propel  your 

boat 
Down  to  its  landing  place,andasyou  float 
You'll  cast  a  few  times  toward  the  reedy 

shore, 
But  mostly  you  will  idle.    Like  a  floor 
The  bottoms  stretch  beside  you,  where 

you  note 
The  red-winged  blackbird,  "chucking" 
in  his  throat. 
And  a  kingfisher  in  the  sycamore. 

And  here  are  small  springs,  lined  with 
tender  cress, 
Mint,  and  the  trillium's  petaled  trinity; 
And  see  the  bittern,  booming  as  he 
drinks ! 
Laziness  takes  you  now,  and  happiness — 
But  hsten,from  that  scrubby  willow  tree 
The  liquid  ecstacy  of  bobolinks ! 


io8    MERE    MELODIES 

THE  VOICE 

AH,  how  her  voice  was  sweet  and  rich 
-^  ^     and  low! 

Even  if  she  called  across  the  room  to  me, 

The  words  were  velvet  whispers.  Silently 

She  stepped  and  softly  spoke,  and  made 

me  know 

The  strength  of  calm.    Each  ripple  of  the 

flow 

Of  liquid  music  somehow  seemed  to  be 

More  eloquent  than  all  the  minstrelsy 

Of  all  the  years.    And  that  was  long  ago. 

And  now  men  say  her  voice  is  hushed — 
their  ears 
Being  deaf  to  that  which  rings  so  loud 
in  mine ; 

Loud  now,  and  louder  through  the  drag- 
ging years, 
Crying  across  that  clouded  boundary 
line, 

Until  I  hear  naught  else,  and  wonder  how, 

So  low  in  life,  it  is  so  clamorous  now ! 


I/' 

MERE    MELODIES     109 

LOOKING  A  BIT  AHEAD 

BEYOND  this  little  world  I  know, 
I  cannot  think  how  Hfe  may  be — 
A  life  made  up  of  memory, 
Where  no  new  flowers  grow! 

I  think  I  do  not  care  to  Hve 

Where  all  my  dreams  are  of  the  past, 
And  where  my  future  is  the  last 

That  life  could  ever  give. 

Unless  another  life  may  ope 

Beyond  the  life  to  dead  men  given — 
Unless  there  be  a  Super-Heaven, 

I  do  not  want  to  hope ! 


no    MERE    MELODIES 


MIDSUMMER  INLAND 

CALLING— calling! 
Oh,  can't   you   hear  it,  the   call  of 
the  sea? 
Ringing  through  mountain  and  valley, 

and  falling 
And  rising  and  roaring,  but  calling — 
still  calling 

Always  to  me! 

League  on  league  lies  the  land  between 
Forest  and  river  and  waterless  waste; 
But  ever  the  sea  gulls  cry,  "O  haste 
Over  the  dusty  miles  to  the  green 
Wide  water  where  we  have  been!" 

Somewhere — anywhere,  out  of  all  this 
Dust  and  drought  where  I  blink  and 

choke ; 
Out  of  the  riot  of  noise  and  smoke — 

Only  to  feel  the  sea  wind's  kiss, 


MERE    MELODIES     iii 

To  taste  the  salt  of  the  shimmering 
spray, 
To  join    in   the  words   of   my  mother- 
speech, 
And  hear  what  the  breakers  say 
To  the  shingle  and  shell  and  the  sands  of 
the  beach. 
And   the  whitecaps  shouting,  each  to 
each 

Across  the  bay! 

O  to  be  one  with  the  waves  this  night ! — 
To  join  in  their  long  ranks,  hand  in 

hand. 
In  a  desperate  charge  on  the  rocks  and 
the  sand. 
With  spears  of  silvery  spume  to  smite ! 


112    MERE    MELODIES 

And  to  part  and  meet  in  the  wild  re- 
treat 
And  the  shuddering  splash  of  the  rush 

ashore — 
The  dash  up  the  shivering  shale,  and  the 
roar 
Through  the  shelving  shallows — then 
back  to  the  sweet, 
Deep,  shining  sea  once  more ! 

Calling — calling ! 
Hark,  how  it  rises,  the  call  of  the  sea ! 
Over  the  distance  still  rising  and  fall- 
ing 
Loud  and  soft,  low  and  long,  calling — 
still  calling 

Always  to  me ! 


MERE    MELODIES     113 


BEAUTY 

"HO  keenly  looks  in  eyes  of  mortals 
sees 
Three  wonderful  and  awesome  mysteries. 


w 

^  ▼     sees 


The  steady  gaze  of  eyes  grown  old  and 

fond 
Of  looking  at  the  great  unknown  Beyond; 

The  tenderness  and  joy,  half-understood, 
In  her  young  eyes  that  dreams  of  mother- 
hood : 

The  wide,  unwinking  wonder  and  surprise 
And  purity  in  little  babies'  eyes! 


114    MERE    MELODIES 


THE  THREE  WISHES 

IN  the  Fairy  country 
Of  Once-Upon-a-Day 
Lived  three  lovely  maidens,  long  ago  and 
far  away. 

Came  an  Old  Witch  to  them, 

Once  upon  a  time — 
These  things  often  happen  in  the  land  of 
love  and  rhyme. 

"  I  can  grant  your  wishes  " 

(So  the  old  dame  said), — 
"Only  one  wish,  though,  for  each. 
Now,  girls,  wish  ahead!" 

Then  the  first  made  answer — 

"I  have  love  and  health. 
Only  one  thing  I  require;   lo!  I  wish  for 
wealth!" 


MERE    MELODIES     115 


Then  the  second  answered — 

"I  have  wealth  above 
Power  to  count,   and   therefore,   if  you 
please,  I  wish  for  love!" 

But  the  third  was  weeping 

In  her  flower-dish ; 
"Love  and  wealth  I  have — I  only  wish  I 
had  a  wish!" 


ii6    MERE    MELODIES 


ENTER— AN  IMMORTAL 

(Bishop  Brown  of  Bristol,  England,  threatens 
to  resign  unless  people  desist  from  bringing  cry- 
ing children  to  church.) 

BISHOP  Brown  of  Bristol  Town, 
He's  loved  by  all  the  widdies. 
He  likes  old  maids  and  wealthy  blades — 

But  he  doesn't  care  for  kiddies! 
He'll  take  his  tea  with  a  K.C.B. 

And  rave  o'er  his  plate  and  crystal — 
But  the  sight  of  a  child  will  drive  him 
wild, 
This  Bishop  Brown  of  Bristol. 

Bishop  Brown  of  Bristol  Town 

Proclaims  in  all  his  sermons, 
We  should  call  brothers  all  the  others 

(Except,  of  course,  the  Germans). 
And  all  and  each  we  ought  to  reach, 

And  cherish  and  assist  all —  v 

Except,  perhaps,  the  baby  chaps, 

Says  Bishop  Brown  of  Bristol. 


MERE    MELODIES     117 

Bishop  Brown  of  Bristol  Town 

Has  aimed  at  babes — and  winged  'em! 
This  text  he  flees — "  Suffer  ye  these 

To  come  into  my  Kingdom!" 
The  babies  cry — ah,  let  them  die 

By  cannon,  sword  and  pistol. 
But  not  disturb  the  speech  superb 

Of  Bishop  Brown  of  Bristol! 


ii8    MERE    MELODIES 


I 


IDEALS 

I 
LOOK  to  find  Perfection;    and  the 
mocking  stars  disclose 
A  soiled  spot  on  the  lily  and  a  canker  in 

the  rose, 
A  lovely  woman  burdened  with  self-con- 
scious unrepose. 

II 

I  look  for  Wisdom ;  and  I  see  a  preacher, 
fresh  from  school, 

Lay  off  the  way  to  heaven  with  a  com- 
pass and  a  rule; 

A  doctor  that's  a  charlatan — a  teacher 
that's  a  fool. 


MERE    MELODIES     119 

III 

I  look  for  Virtue;   men  are  flies  who  lose 

their  souls  for  honey; 
The  women  see  their  draggled  wings,  and 

laugh  and  think  it's  funny, 
And  scorn  their  fallen  sisters — and  wed  a 

man  for  money! 

IV 

I  look  for  Inspiration;  from  what  cess- 
pools poets  pump  it! 

Why,  even  Kipling  tootles  on  a  penny 
pewter  trumpet. 

And  Homer  sang  the  Trojan  war  —  a 
struggle  for  a  strumpet! 

V 

I  look  for  Honor;  stay  awhile — ^what  hon- 
est men  are  these  ? 

A  politician  out  for  plums,  a  lawyer  out 
for  fees — 

Go  to!  I'll  get  a  lantern  and  join  Dio- 
genes ! 


I20    MERE    MELODIES 

VI 

I  look  for  Gods;   I  find  poor  things  that 

make  the  angels  weep — 
Jehovah   kiUing   Canaanites   and   eating 

slaughtered  sheep, 
And  Jove  debauching  women,  and  Buddha 

sound  asleep ! 

VII 

Perfection,  wisdom,  virtue,  inspiration, 
honor — puff ! 

They  all  go  up  in  smoke — they're  made  of 
very  fragile  stuff — 

And  yet,  I'll  find  them  if  I  keep  on  look- 
ing long  enough ! 


MERE    MELODIES     121 

CAUSE  FOR  MOURNING 

I  WAS  ware  of  a  pair  of  turtle-doves  that 
sat  on  the  maple  branch  to  woo; 
That  sat  on  the  branch  to  bill  and  coo 
and  whisper  their  gentle  loves. 

O  soft  their    plumage   and    bright   their 

eyes,  their  joy  the  joy  of  the  spring, 

new-born ! 
Then  why  should  they  mourn,  and  mourn, 

and  mourn,  and  breathe  out  their 

love  in  sighs? 

"Oh,  why  do  you  mourn,  dear  doves?" 
said  I,  "when  cooing  and  kissing 
is  all  your  care?" 

And  side  by  side  on  the  maple,  there, 
they  gurgled  their  sad  reply: 

"If  you  had  lips  that  were  made  of  horn, 

not  warm  and  tender  as  lips  should 

be, 
And   cooing  and   kissing  were   all  your 

glee,  say,  wouldn't  you  mourn  and 

mourn?" 


122    MERE    MELODIES 


BUSY  EXPLAINING 

TELL  me,  darling,  what  thou  fearest  ? 
Thou  art  nearest,  thou  are  dearest; 
Thou  appearest  to  be  queerest  when 
thou  lovest  me  the  best! 
All   thy  terror   is   an   error — of  my  life 
thou  art  the  sharer — 
Thou   art  altogether   fairer,   yea   and 
squarer,  than  the  rest. 

But    you    newly    act    unruly,    treating 
coolly  me,  yours  truly; 
You're  unduly  mean  and  muley — you 
are  stubbornly  unfair. 
Explanations  you  refuse  me ;  you'll  abuse 
me  till  you  lose  me! 
Please  excuse  me,  but  you  use  me  like 
a  doormat,  like  a  chair! 


MERE    MELODIES     123 


Yes,  I  called  the  actress  "Cutie,"  "Frutti- 
tutti,"  "tutti-frutti"— 
But   I   only   did   my   duty  when   her 
beauty  thrilled  me  through; 
She  is  older,  she  is  bolder,  than  are  you, 
and  she  is  colder — 
But  I  praised  her  'cause  her  shoulder — 
er — reminded  me  of  you ! 


124    MERE    MELODIES 


WILD  ROSES 

I 

ON  a  sunny  summer  morning  in  the 
middle  of  July, 
When  the  sun  upon  the  meadows  is  half- 

an-hour  high ; 
Walking  down  the  dusty  roadway  in  the 

country,  where  you  get 
Whiffs    of    jimson-weed    and    rag-weed 

through  the  wealth  of  "Bouncing- 
Bet." 
The  shimmer  of  the  corn  blades  makes  a 

picture  for  the  eyes — 
And  the  merry  dancing  crowd  of  little 

white-winged  butterflies — 
Then  an  odor,  stronger,  sweeter,  than  the 

rest  usurps  your  sense — 
Wild  roses  in  the  corners  of  the  stake-and- 

rider  fence! 


MERE    MELODIES     125 

II 

The    rails    are    covered    over    with    the 

twisted  berry-vines 
And  here  and  there  among  the  leaves  a 

small  white  blossom  shines; 
The  briers  catch  and  hold  you  as  you 

vault  across  the  bars, 
And  the  grasses  slash  your  ankles  with 

their  verdant  scimitars. 
What  matter?     Here's  a  wonder  undis- 
covered and  forlorn, 
The  sweetest  little  blossom  of  all  blossoms 

ever  born ; 
Did   you    doubt   that   it   was    summer? 

Here's  a  living  evidence — 
Wild  roses  in  the  corners  of  the  stake-and- 

rider  fence ! 


126    MERE    MELODIES 

III 
There  are  many  wondrous  blossoms  bear 

the  lovely  name  of  Rose, 
The  La  Frances,  and  the  Beauties,  and 

the  haughty  Jaqueminots; 
Each  holds  a  myriad  petals  close  in  one 

great  lovely  bloom, 
Each  holds  its  own  rare  color,  and  im- 
parts its  own  perfume. 
But  here's  a  little  cousin  that  is  sweeter 

far  than  all. 
With  a  single  row  of  petals — if  you  touch 

them  they  will  fall ! — 
Not  all  your  gold  will  buy  them  though 

they  grow  without  expense, 
Uncared  for,  in  the  corners  of  the  stake- 

and-rider  fence! 


MERE    MELODIES     127 

IV 

O,  prototype  of  modesty — that  perfect, 

subtle  charm 
Whose  very  frailty  keeps  it  from  a  wanton 

touch  of  harm! 
You  do  not  need  those  thorns  to  keep 

the  vandal  hand  away; 
You  have  no  need  to  hide  so  shyly  by 

the  dusty  way: 
The  white  may  deepen   into   pink,   the 

pink  may  shade  to  red 
For  beauty's  sake,  but  not  with  blushes 

for  a  ravished  bed ; 
You  tell  your  innocence  to  all  with  mute, 

sweet  eloquence — 
Wild  roses  in  the  corners  of  the  stake-and- 

rider  fence ! 


128     MERE    MELODIES 


PERHAPS 

SOME  place,  beyond  the  sea  that  rolls 
In  lands  beyond  our  ken, 
They  wait — the  myriad  of  souls 
That  some  day  must  be  men. 

And  I  suppose  they  treasure  up 

A  hope,  and  hold  it  dear — 
That  being  born  is  not  a  cup 

So  bitter  as  they  fear; 

Just  as  we  treasure,  on  this  earth, 

Our  lively,  human  breath. 
Perhaps  they're  as  afraid  of  birth 

As  we're  afraid  of  death ! 


MERE    MELODIES     129 


"OF  SUCH  IS  THE  KINGDOM" 

ONCE    there    was    a    bachelor    who 
moved  from  flat  to  flat; 
Every     house     had     children,     and     he 

wouldn't  stand  for  that; 
Found  one  where  they  weren't  allowed — 

then  with  rage  was  torn, 
For  in  the  rooms  above,  one  day,  there 

was  a  baby  born! 
Moved  into  another  place — then  refused 

to  stay. 
When  he  noticed  children  in  the  house 

across  the  way. 


I30    MERE    MELODIES 

Finally  he  died,  and,  as  is  everybody's 

fate. 
Found  himself  a-knocking  at  St.  Peter's 

golden  gate; 
"Can't  come  in?     Why  not?"  he  asked. 

Says  the  Saint,  "Oh,  dear! 
Fm  afraid  you  couldn't  stand  the  way  we 

run  things  here; 
Children,  children,  all  about — no,  it  isn't 

fair; 
You  go  to  the  other  place — you'll  find  no 

children  there!" 


MERE    MELODIES     131 


JULY 

DOWN  in  the  bayou,  where  the  lilies 
grow — 
The  pure  pond-lilies  that  are  born  of 
mud — 
The  anchored  punt  rocks  idly  to  and  fro, 
July  has  stilled  the  current  and  the  blood ; 
Energy  ebbs  apace  that  was  at  flood 
In  June,  and  I  would  neither  swim  nor  row, 
But  lie  and  smoke  until  the  sun  is  low, 

Reach  out  at  times,  and  pluck  a  lily  bud, 

And  watch  the  ford  (where  cattle  move 

so  slow. 

Knee-deep,    and    switch    the    tail   and 

chew  the  cud, 

And  think  of  naught) .  I  dream  of  long  ago. 

And  white   thoughts   bloom  in   the   still 

even-glow, 
Down  in  the  bayou,  where  the  lilies  grow — 
The  pure  pond-lilies  that  are  born  of 
mud! 


132    MERE    MELODIES 


AT  THE  END 

I  THINK  that  when  the  Judgment  Day 
shall  dawn, 
The  wicked  shall  be  not  so  much  con- 
demned 
For  the  great  sins  they  did  in  days  long 
gone, 
As   for   the   little   tides   they  left   un- 
stemmed, 
The  little  kindnesses  they  left  undone. 
The  faults  that  in  their  selfish  pride 
they  passed 
Shall  overwhelm  them,  each  and  every 
one, 
More  than  their  great  unrighteousness, 
at  last. 


MERE    MELODIES     133 

I  think  when  that  Great  Reckoning  has 
come 
The  righteous  shall  be  blessed,  ah!  not 
so  much 
For  acts  of  faith  and  glorious  martyrdom 
And  crowns  snatched  from  the  Devil's 
poisoned  clutch — 
Not  for  the  wound  that  in  the  sunlight 
bleeds 
And  bathes  in  crimson  glory  all  their 
lot- 
But  for  those  little  common  daily  deeds 
Of  kindness  that  they  did — and  then 
forgot ! 


134    MERE    MELODIES 


THE  MUSE  GONE  MAD 

I  THOUGHT  of  a  sonnet  to  you,  dear, 
And  I  sat  down  to  write  it  at  once; 
But  it  wouldn't  remain  in  the  rhythm  so 
plain 
That  is  used  in  those  dignified  stunts. 
The  lines  I  could  use  were  too  few,  dear — 

At  fourteen  I'd  scarcely  a  start: 
Where  the  meter  should  creep  it  would 
gallop  and  leap. 
To  the  jubilant  beats  of  my  heart! 
It  wouldn't  be  quiet,  however  I'd  try  it; 
It  wanted  to  fly — it  was  bound  on  a  riot 
Of  rhymes  that  were  ever  irregular — 
never 
Obeying  a  rule  of  the  classical  school. 
But   drunkenly   reeling  with   passionate 

feeling — 
The  knees  of  it  danced  when  they  should 
have  been  kneeling 


MERE    MELODIES     135 

Till  the  heavens  above  and  the  planets 

thereof 
Seemed  echoing,  ringing  with  seraphim, 
singing 
The  song  of  my  love ! 

I  can't  write  a  sonnet  to  you,  dear, 
For  sonnets  are  calm  and  sedate. 
And  that  the  poor  muse  cannot  do,  dear. 

When  her  heart's  in  a  turbulent  state. 
For  how  can  I  fashion  it  calm  and  dis- 
passionate, 
Under   your   eye   with   that   maddening 
flash  in  it? 
No — I  must  dash  in  it  headlong  and 
furious, 
Not  of  the  treasure  of  measure  penurious. 
But  all  in  a  meter  that's  sweeter  and 
fleeter 
Than  carrier  doves  are — and  all  filled 
with  curious 


136    MERE    MELODIES 

Changes    of    rhyme-scheme     and     time 

scheme — for  this 
Is    the    way    of    my    dreams    and    my 

schemes  for  the  bhss 
We    shall    own — we    alone — all    aroused 

by  your  kiss, 
Or  the  touch  of  your  hand,  or  the  glance 

of  your  eyes, 
Or    your    flashing,    transcendent    bright 

smile  that's  resplendent 
As  yon  August  moon  that  is  hung  as  a 

pendant 
By  God  on  the  breast  of  the  skies! 


MERE    MELODIES     137 


AUREA 

THE  sunshine  playing  in  her  hair 
Seemed  something  more  than  sun- 
shine, there; 
For  sunshine  has  one  hue,  I'm  told, 
And  this  had  all  the  tints  of  gold— 
The  dull  gold,  gleaming  in  the  stone 
Where  it  has  shone  for  ages  flown; 
The  red  gold  in  the  signet  rings 
Of  ancient  Oriental  kings; 
The  virgin  gold's  bold,  tawny  tint. 
The  new  coin,  glittering  from  the  mint, 
And  many  another  golden  hue 
That  golden  baubles  never  knew. 

For  one  bright  smile  she  gave  to  me 

I  could  not  find  a  simile ; 

What  lay  beneath  the  tenderness 

Of  those  deep  eyes,  I  could  not  guess. 

No  snow,  no  ivory,  no  pearl, 

Were  like  the  forehead  of  this  girl; 


138    MERE    MELODIES 


No  art  could  say  what  other  thing 

Was  Hke  the  dance  bewildering 
Of  cupids,  playing  hide-and-seek 
Among  the  dimples  of  her  cheek. 

Her  form,  her  grace,  but  showed  how 
far 

Inadequate  expressions  are — 
Only  her  hair,  I  knew,  was  gold — 
Only  her  heart,  I  found,  was  cold! 


MERE    MELODIES     139 


LUX  IN  TENEBRIS 

I  SHALL  know,  when  I  am  old, 
Of  a  truth, 
When  my  Hfe  is  growing  cold, 

What  is  youth. 
I  shall  learn  its  wonder,  when 
I  can  have  it  not  again. 

I  shall  know,  when  I  am  blind, 

What  is  light ; 
Of  its  glories,  I  shall  find 

Clearer  sight. 
I  shall  know  the  golden  day 
When  its  beauties  pass  away. 

Loveless,  I  shall  learn  of  love, 

Deaf,  shall  hear 
Melodies  unfathomed  of 

Lively  ear. 
And  despairing,  I  shall  see 
What  the  joys  of  hope  may  be. 


I40    MERE    MELODIES 

So,  mayhap,  when  I  am  dead, 

And  the  pain 
Bows  no  more  my  throbbing  head, 

I  shall  gain 
With  the  knowledge  Death  can  give. 
More  of  life  than  you  who  live ! 


MERE    MELODIES     141 


AN  AMATEUR 

1  PIPED  amid  the  autumn  woods, 
Because  I  could  not  come  on  Pan; 
The  gods  were  gone,  but  all  their  goods 
Were  scattered  through  the  solitudes, 
And  therefore,  I,  naught  but  a  man, 
Played  on  my  pipes,  as  well  as  mortals 
can. 

I  piped  to  call  the  rabbits  and 

The  squirrels  to  my  side; 
As  Marsyas,  I  would  command 
Where,  by  the  autumn  breezes  banned, 

Apollo  would  not  bide; 

Therefore    I    piped    through    all    the 
woodland  wide. 

I  piped  to  call  the  forest  things 

The  wood  had  made  so  tame — 
Squirrels,  and  birds  with  timid  wings. 
The  hare  that  limps,  the  lark  that  sings — 
I  piped !   And  beasts  with  eyes  aflame — 
Lions  and  tigers  came! 


142    MERE    MELODIES 


IN  THE  MONASTERY 

I 

FATHER  Remy,  Father  Remy !    Is  the 
world  so  very  bad  ? 
Is  there  naught  but  sin  and  sorrow,  that 

your  brow  is  worn  and  sad — 

That  you  frown,  when  past  these  cloisters 

sweep  their  glittering  cavalcades — 

Are   they   naught   but   vain   delusions — 

naught  but  senseless  masquerades  ? 

II 
Father  Remy,  Father  Remy!    Yestereve 

I  stood  awhile. 
Watched   the   pilgrims  on   the  highway 

(leaning  on  the  abbey  stile). 
Caught   a   glimpse    of   drooping   lashes, 

azure  eyes,  and  golden  hair! 
Caught  the  scent  of  dewy  roses — Father! 

But  the  world  is  fair! 


MERE    MELODIES     143 

III 
Then  I  said  a  "Miserere''  for  the  sins 

that  on  us  fall; 
Prayed  for  grace  to  Mother  Mary  (in  the 

chapel,  on  the  wall), 
But  the  painter,  Father  Remy,  he  had 

made  the  Virgin  fair — 
He  had  given  her  drooping  lashes,  azure 

eyes  and  golden  hair. 

IV 

Father  Remy,  yestereven,  when  the  An- 
gelus  had  rung. 

And  I  sought  my  lonely  pallet,  after 
Vespers  had  been  sung, 

Then  I  dreamt  of  Holy  Angels,  flying  to- 
ward me,  through  the  air, 

But  they  all  had  drooping  lashes,  azure 
eyes  and  golden  hair! 


144    MERE    MELODIES 

V 

Father    Remy,    Father    Remy!      Is    the 

world  so  bad,  outside? 
Is  there  naught  but  lust  and  murder,  evil 

thoughts  and  sinful  pride? 
But,   Father!     Even   if  sin  and   sorrow 

have  their  habitation  there, 
Are  there  not  the  drooping  lashes,  azure 

eyes  and  golden  hair? 


MERE    MELODIES     145 


A  HUMID  NIGHT 

HALF  the  slow  night  is  past  and,  still 
awake, 
I   curse  and   pray  for  just  one   little 

breeze 
To  stir  the  lifeless  leaves  of  those  thick 
trees; 
For  those  low,  heavy  clouds  at  last  to 

break 
With   thunders  from  their  sluggishness, 
and  shake 
These  breathless  meadows  into  raging 

seas 
Of  tossing  green — a  blessed  storm  that 
frees 
The  tightened  pulse  and  nerves  that  throb 
and  ache! 


10 


146    MERE    MELODIES 

Some  sound  for  this  curst  silence!    In  the 
grass 
The  noisiest  insect  has  been  drugged  to 

sleep ; 
The  owl  is  choked  as  I,  his  brother,  am. 
Two   lonesome   sounds   but   deepen   the 

morass 
Of  stillness — far  there  bleats  a  suffering 
sheep 
Near,  the  dull  water  rumbles  at  the 
dam. 


MERE    MELODIES     147 

AN  IMPOSSIBILITY 

IDONT  believe  the  story  that  they 
told 
In  Hellas  ere  this  age  began  to  be — 
How  Aphrodite  issued  from  the  sea, 
Foam-born,  but  perfect  as  the  waves  that 

rolled 
In  endless  rhythm,  musical,  but  cold 
Upon  the  shores  of  that  strange  mystery, 
A  world  without  Love.    Ay,  it  seems  to 
me 
That  dreamers  were  illogical,  of  old ! 

For  how  could  there  be  shore  or  sea  or  land, 

Or  sky  or  universe,  or  night  or  morn, 
Or  man  to  launch  his  cockles  from  the 
strand. 
And  argosies  with  gold  and  wine  and 
corn — 
How  could  this  mother-wave  have  kissed 
the  sand. 
Or  anything  have  been,  ere  Love  was 
born  ? 


148     MERE    MELODIES 


A  PRISONER 

("When  looking  at  the  happy  autumn  fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more." 

— ^Tennyson.) 

I    DO  not  wish   that   I   could   wander 
through 
The  autumn  woodlands,  as  I  used  to  do; 
Although  the  forests  call  me,  call  me  still, 
And  the  trees  shout  from  every  flaming 

hill- 
Beckon    with    baring    boughs — and    the 

brown  fields 
Speak  of  the  treasure  that  their  stubble 

yields. 
The  smell  of  dead  leaves  calls  me,  and 

the  haze 
On  the  horizon  dreams  of  former  days — 
Talks  in  its  lazy  sleep  and  calls  me  hence. 
And  strikes  a  sharp  thrill  through  my  in- 
dolence. 


MERE    MELODIES     149 

And  yet,  I  do  not  wish  that  I  could  go — 
Not  as  I  am.     The  long  years,  quick  or 

slow, 
Have  crowded  in  between  these  things 

and  me, 
And  bound  me — and  will  never  let  me  free ! 
For,  though  I  went  unheeded,  and  could 

take 
A  long  week,  wandering  by  stream  and 

lake, 
I'd  still  be  fettered.    Why,  each  simple  joy, 
Freely  accepted  by  the  growing  boy. 
Is  taken  from  the  man  by  everything 
That  holds  his  life's  dull  autumn  from  its 

spring! 
I  would  throw  cudgels  at  a  walnut  tree 
And  bring  the  green  globes  tumbling  over 

me; 
Rend  the  wet  rinds  therefrom,  and  stain 

with  brown 
My  hands — and  gaily  brave  my  mother's 

frown ! 


I50    MERE    MELODIES 

I  want  to  do  these  things — but  know  full 

well 
I  cannot.     Why  it  is,  I  cannot  tell, 
But  that  the  thrill  is  all  in  memory — 
How  tasteless  the  reality  would  be ! 

The  ripe  persimmon,  stoned  from  off  the 

bough, 
Would  be  less  luscious  than  stuffed  olives 

now; 
The  pawpaw  were  a  flat  and  mushy  fruit — 
As  nasty  as  that  sweet,  delicious  root 
Of  sassafras  we  dug  last  spring!    And  all 
The  sights  and  sounds  and  odors  of  the 

fall 
Bring  keen  remembrance.     At  our  very 

feet 
A  feast  is  spread — and,  lo!  we  may  not 

eat! 
Smell  the  dead  leaves!    They  call  to  me, 

but  no — 
My  feet  are  shackled,  and  I  cannot  go! 


MERE    MELODIES     iji 


IN  VISIONSHIRE 

IN  Visionshire  the  sky  is  blue, 
And  all  the  things  I  meant  to  do, 
And  all  the  joys  I  might  have  missed 
And  all  the  lips  I  might  have  kissed 
Wait  for  me,  ever  fresh  and  new! 

My  unwrit  song  is  sung  there,  too. 

And   there   my  dearest   dreams   come 
true — 
Ay,  more  dreams  than  my  heart  has  wist 
In  Visionshire! 

For  roses  I  shall  trade  my  rue, 
And,  wandering  those  gardens  through. 
Shall  find  the  pathway  as  I  list 
Where  I  may  keep  that  old,  old  tryst 
That  long  ago  I  made  with  you 
In  Visionshire! 


152     MERE    MELODIES 

INTUITION 

MY  heart  is  a  baby  that  cries  for  the 
moon ; 
My  mind  is  the  parent  that  laughs  at 
its  folly, 
Oh,  give  it  a  rattle,  a  bowl  and  a  spoon, 
A  ring,  and  a  patent-unbreakable-dolly! 
Feed  milk  to  the  heart,  Mind,  and  kiss  it 

and  pet  it — 
Perhaps,  in  a  while,  it  will  sleep  and  for- 
get it! 

But,  Heart,  let  me  whisper — refuse  thou 
to  grow 
To  the  Intellect's  form  of  eternal  deny- 
ing; 

Remain  as  a  child,  and  at  last  thou  shalt 

know 
The  Mother  of  Hearts  giveth  ear  to  the 

crying. 
And  the  moon  shall  be  thine  through  the 

power  of  her  love. 
And  the  waters  beneath  and  the  heaven 

above ! 


MERE    MELODIES     153 


THE  NINETEENTH  PSALM 

THE  heavens  declare  His  glory, 
The  firmament  showeth  His  deeds! 
Day  unto  day  tells  His  story — 

Night  writes  what  another  night  reads! 
It  needeth  not  speech  for  their  sermons, 
The  silence  is  loud  with  their  song — 
The  world's  end  their  message  determines, 
Through  aeons  long! 

The  home  of  the  sun  is  amid  them. 

Who  bursteth  on  them  from  above, 
From  the  veils  of  the  night  that  hath  hid 
them 

As  a  lover  approaches  his  love ! 
Naught  lets  him,   naught  flees,   naught 
withstands  him — 

He  marketh  the  day  and  the  hour; 
And  even  the  Lord,  who  commands  him, 

Knoweth  his  power! 


154    MERE    MELODIES 

For  the  law  of  the  Lord  is  unaltered, 

His  judgment  is  wise  and  complete; 
Tis  the  law,0  thou  soul  that  hast  faltered, 

That  bringeth  thee  wise  to  His  feet! 
OGod!    We  are  weak!    And  in  terror 

We  yield  us  in  ignorant  awe — 
Grant  thou  that  through  wandering  and 
error 

We  keep  thy  law! 


MERE    MELODIES     155 


AUTUMNAL  AUTOMORPHISM 

THIS  time  of  year,  when  woods  appear 
Wrapped  in  a  smoky  haziness, 
When  more  and  more  our  Umbs  are  sore 

With  Monday  morning  laziness ; 
Close  to  the  ground  my  body's  bound, 

But  feeble  my  resistance  is 
Against  the  wind  that  sweeps  my  mind 
Across  the  misty  distances. 

And  so,  while  I  in  quiet  lie. 

The  bonds  of  sleep  unraveling, 
My  spirit,  stirred,  flees  as  a  bird 

Beyond  the  meadows  traveling; 
Pours  its  new  wine  before  the  shrine 

That  duller  souls  would  call  a  tree, 
Where  dryads  wake,  and  smiling  take 

The  fruits  of  its  idolatry! 


156    MERE    MELODIES 

Then  up  and  on  to  meet  the  dawn, 

And  swifter  than  a  swallow  wing 
To  dip  in  streams  where  frosty  gleams 

The  mist  of  morn  are  following; 
Where  floating  downs  from  thistle  crowns 

On  journey's  wild  and  windy,  go 
To  flutter  where  the  frosts  prepare 

The  wild  grape's  green  and  indigo. 

Here  where  the  rills  baptize  the  hills 

New  to  all  eyes — or  here,  amid 
The  ancient  lands  where  long-dead  hands 

Built  cenotaph  and  pyramid, 
My  spirit  flies!     My  body  lies, 

A  snared  bird  that  has  lost  her  moor 
All  drearily,  all  wearily, 

And  snuggles  in  the  Ostermoor! 


MERE    MELODIES     157 

GETTING  OLD 

GRAY  rock,  half  hidden  in  the  wood, 
Storm  stained  and  calm  and  cold, 
How  old  are  you  ?    A  million  years  ? 
That's  not  so  very  old! 

Why,  I  remember  babyhood. 

With  all  its  storm  and  strife 
Of  infant  dreams  and  ills  and  fears — 

Pray,  is  not  that  a  life  ? 

I  had  a  boyhood,  too — a  round 

Of  childish  wars  to  wage ; 
O,  long,  long  memories  of  youth! 

And  is  not  that  an  age  ? 

I  had  a  love,  and  bliss  profound; 

And,  since  she  went  from  me 
Has  not  the  waiting  been,  forsooth, 

A  whole  eternity? 

Gray  rock,  who  cares  what  manifold 

Millennia  you  may  see  ? 
I  am  a  hundred  times  as  old 

As  you  can  ever  be ! 


iS8    MERE    MELODIES 

THE  AUTUMN  IMP 

THERE'S  a  tricksy  little  Pixie,  run- 
ning all  about  the  woods, 
If  you  find  him,  you  may  bind  him,  and 

confiscate  his  goods; 
He's  a  smuggler  and  a  juggler,  and  he'll 

devastate  the  land — 
He's  a  meddler,  and  a  peddler — and  his 
goods  are  contraband! 

Down  the  leafy  lanes,  the  thief,  he  takes 

his  wicked,  wanton  way. 
And  his  brushes  paint  bright  blushes  on 

the  greens  of  yesterday; 
But  beware!    His  gold  is  fairy's  gold  that 

only  lasts  a  night, 
Bring  it  hither — it  will  wither  to  dead 

leaves  before  your  sight! 


MERE    MELODIES     159 

Little   varlet!     All    your    scarlet    is    the 

blood  that  speaks  of  death! 
All  your  painted  frauds  are  tainted  with 

the  poison  of  your  breath, 
And,  October,  when  you  robe  her  in  your 

flaming  frock  of  flame, 
YouVe  made  easy  for  the  breezy  nights  to 

strip  her  to  her  shame! 


i6o    MERE    MELODIES 

ONE  GOOD  DREAM 

1  DREAMT  I  went  to  heaven,  and  I 
saw 
Folk  there  that  I  had  never  thought  to  see. 

Ah !   Not  the  throng  of  white-robed  saints, 

who  pass 
From  innocence  to  immortaHty, 
Untouched  of  sin,  unspotted  of  the  world, 
Whose  unshamed  radiance  makes  them 

colorless ; 
Not  singing  schools  of  souls  all  satisfied 
That  set  me  seeking  wistfully  for  friends — 
But  some  I  knew  and  loved  in  human 

guise. 
And  some  I  had,  reluctant,  cast  aside 
For  my  own  reputation's  sake,  were  there; 
Some  I  had  labored  with,  to  make  them 

see 
The  error  of  their  way — then  washed  my 

hands 


MERE    MELODIES     i6i 

Of  them,  and  seen  them  take  the  path  my 

mind 
Told  me  was  evil — they  were  also  there; 
And  some  I  knew  not,  but  whom,  all  at 

once, 
I  loved,  because  they  added  warm,  bright 

hues 
To  the  dead  whiteness  of  eternity! 

Oh!  there  were  women  whose  mistakes 

had  made 
A  greater  work  for  perfect  love  to  do; 
Whose  purity  was  more  than  innocence — 
Innocence    lost,    but    something    better 

gained. 
Fire-tried  and  true  and  holy  at  the  end ! 
Oh!  there  were  men  whose  visions  had 

been  wrong, 
But  who  at  least  had  had  a  vision — and 
Their  hearts  had  triumphed  where  their 

brains  had  erred. 


II 


i62    MERE    MELODIES 

And   I   was   happy.      For   I   much   had 

feared 
A  heaven  peopled  with  such  brilHant  souls 
That,  could  I  by  some  trick  or  miracle 
Win  thither,  I  should  be  ashamed — and 

oh. 
So  lonesome !    My  surprise  was  ecstasy 
To  find  so  many  very  human  folk — 
Friends,  comrades  and  good  fellows!    So 

I  knew 
With  sudden  understanding,  why  it  was 
That  people  called  it  Heaven — it  was  so 
Blessedly  human,  and  so  much  like  home ! 


MERE    MELODIES     163 


BALLADE  A  DOUBLE  REFRAIN 

KEEPER  of  promises  made  in  spring, 
Gilder  of  squalor  in  lowly  cot — 
Ever  true  and  unwavering — 
These  are  the  things  that  Love  is  not! 
This  is  pretty  to  round  the  plot 
Of  a  play,  for  the  playwright  knows  he 
must 
Tickle  our  fancies  to  boil  his  pot — 
For  Love  is  a  liar  we  love  to  trust! 

Passion  immortal  that  poets  sing, 

Highest  of  gifts  that  the  gods  allot! 
Healing  balm  of  affliction's  sting — 

These  are  the  things  that  Love  is  not. 

Ay,  we  would  it  were  so,  God  wot! 
Snatch  we  at  apples  that  turn  to  dust! 

Learn  we  wisdom,  then?    Not  a  jot. 
For  Love  is  a  liar  we  love  to  trust ! 


i64    MERE    MELODIES 

Poets  and  dramatists!    Ye  who  cling 

Still  to  the  old  romantic  rot, 
Though  I  am  telling  a  bitter  thing, 

These  are  the  things  that  Love  is  not! 

Love  is  a  breeze  blowing  cold  and  hot, 
A  young  man's  fancy — a  withering  gust 

Yet,  let  Love  call  and  we  rush  to  the 
spot. 
For  Love  is  a  liar  we  love  to  trust! 


l'envoi  ! 


Princess,  I  love  you!    I've  quite  forgot 
These  are  the  things  that  Love  is  not; 
'Tis  bitter  bread,  but  I  beg  a  crust. 
For  Love  is  a  liar  we  love  to  trust! 


MERE    MELODIES     165 


AUTUMN  AFIELD 

HOW  greener  is  the  maple  tree,  when 
half  its  leaves  are  red — 
How  keener  is  its  tracery,  when  half  its 

leaves  are  shed! 
How   softer   is    the  Autumn    path,  how 

sweeter  is  the  aftermath — 
What  dreamy  haze  through  forest  ways 
when  Summer  days  have  fled! 

The  winter's  Dian  sleeping  with  the  moon- 
light chill  above  her; 

The  Spring  is  Psyche  creeping  to  the 
sleeping  Eros  of  her — 

The  Summer  is  a  Venus  fraught  with  pas- 
sions hot  that  come  to  naught — 

But  Autumn  is  a  human  woman,  mother, 
wife  and  lover! 


i66    MERE    MELODIES 

Go  build  your  hut,  who  love  the  first,  on 

Winter's  barren  heights; 
Go  dream  with  Spring,  O  youths  that 

thirst  for  immature  delights; 
Let  him  that  loves  the  Summer  sing  her 

kisses  and  her  blossoming — 
The  fruits  are  mine,   the  mellow  wine, 

through  Autumn  days  and  nights! 


MERE    MELODIES     167 


EX  MINIMIS 

HERE,  where  mine  eyes  are  blinded 
with  the  smoke, 
Here,  where    mine   ears  are   deafened 
with  the  din — 
Here  where  the  singing  voice  can  only- 
choke — 
Here  where  the  wandering  soul  is  shut 
within ; 

Here,  city-bound,  I  see  the  great  round 
dome 
Of  heaven  that  once,  I  fancy,  arched 
above 
The    fields    I    knew    that    glorified    my 
home — 
The  hills  that  in  my  memory  I  love 


i68    MERE    MELODIES 

I  see  one  little,  lonely  bit  of  blue 

From  where  my  city  casement  mocks 
the  day; 
And  blocked  by  brick  and  stone  from  all 
my  view 
Is  all  that  sky  that  reaches  far  away — 

But  from  that  little  patch,  I  know  the 
sky. 
And   from   that   breath,   I   know   the 
boundless  air; 
And  from  that  little  thrill  within  me,  I 
Know  there  is  endless  happiness,  out 
there ! 


MERE    MELODIES     169 


VALE! 

IS  there  any  knowing 
Where  September's  going? 
Ah,  so  fast  she  foots  away  through  the 

forests  glowing  — 
Glowing  where  the  leaves  and  grasses 

To  a  thousand  tints  are  turning; 
Where,  in  gold  and  scarlet  masses, 
Moses'  bush  anew  is  burning. 
Is  there  any  knowing 
Whither  she  is  going? 

Lo!  the  moon  senescent 
Dwindles  to  her  crescent; 
In  the  autumn  skies  the  frosty  stars  are 

incandescent 
Through  the  woods  the  winds  are  crying, 
On  the  beach  the  waves  are  throbbing — 
"Summer's  dead  and  autumn's  dying!" 
Winds  and  waves  alike  are  sobbing — 
Is  there  any  knowing 
Where  September's  going? 


I70    MERE    MELODIES 

Where  the  dewdrops  writ  her 
Name  with  gems  a-ghtter, 
Yesterday,  to-morrow  will  be  hoar-frost, 

chill  and  bitter. 
She  will  go,  and  go  forever, 

Only  shall  our  hearts  remember 
That  no  future  years  can  ever 

Bring  us  back  this  lost  September — 
And  there  is  no  knowing 
Whither  she  is  going! 


MERE    MELODIES     171 


A  BITTER  JEST 

TT  was  all  a  joke,  this  youth  of  mine, 

-^  It  was  pure  and  simple  fun; 

It  went  to  my  head  like  fumes  of  wine. 

And  I  laughed  till  the  joke  was  done; 
And  still  I  laughed  at  the  silly  strife 

That  wages  through  endless  days — 
At  the  follies  and  practical  jokes  that  Life, 

The  Prince  of  all  Jesters,  plays. 

I  laughed  at  Love,  the  impudent  boy, 

And  at  Fate,  the  insolent  clown; 
The  whole  world  chuckled  and  grinned 
with  joy. 

And  I  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down. 
I  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  hot  and  fast — 

And  my  eyes  and  my  cheeks  are  wet, 
The  Jest  is  ended,  the  laugh  has  passed. 

But  the  tears  are  flowing  yet! 


172     MERE    MELODIES 

"THE  CAVE" 

THE  giant  hand  that  clove  this  yawn- 
ing chasm 
Ceased  from  its  task  an  age  of  years  ago ; 
The  winds  have  carved  it,  and  the  rain 
and  snow 
Channeled  its  walls  since  that  convulsive 

spasm. 
This  oak  was  then  primordial  protoplasm, 
Or  what  forewent  it!     Here  it  stands, 

and  lo! 
Its  wild  and  solemn  beauty  seems  to  grow 
Upon  you  and  your  slow  enthusiasm. 

So  wonderfully  old  and  calm!     The  year 
Has    clothed    its    beetling    crags   with 
vines  of  flame ; 
A  hymn  of  praise  should  fill  you — 
but,  alas! 
You  curse,  or  blush  ashamed,  for  even  here 
The  picnicker  has  hacked  his  silly  name. 
And  strewed  his  egg  shells  and  his 
broken  glass! 


MERE    MELODIES     173 

AFTERGLOW 

AS  echoes  answer  when  the  voice  has 
-^  ^     ceased 

To  sound ;  as,  when  the  storm  is  spent, 

the  rain 
Still  splashes  from  the  trees;  as  scents 
remain 
Of  withered  roses;   as  a  ghost  released 
Still  haunts  the  tables  of  his  finished  feast, 
Still  seeks  the  old  scenes  of  his  keenest 

pain ; 
Or  as  the  sun,  sunk  'neath  the  western 
plain. 
Yet  leaves  his  glory  in  the  shining  east — 

So,  love,  I  sing  of  love,  though  we  have  said 

That  love  has  yielded  to  a  better  thing; 

Though  we  have  kissed  and  laid  him  in 

his  bed, 

Wept  over  him  and  parted — yet  I  bring 

The  same  song!    Love,  my  love,  though 

love  be  dead 

How  can  I  know  it  yet,  and  how  not  sing! 


174    MERE    MELODIES 


A  LITTLE  AUTUMN  SONG 

THERE'S  a  keenness  in  the  air, 
When  the  sun  is  low; 
When  the  sky  is  swept  and  bare, 
And  the  night  winds  blow; 
When  the  shadows  come  and  go. 
Shiver,  rise  and  fall 

All  along  the  foggy  distance,  where  the 
night  birds  call. 

There's  a  girl — how  summer  flies! — 

Whom  I  loved  of  yore. 
And  the  light  behind  her  eyes 

Shineth  evermore; 

So  Fm  wishing,  as  before. 
For  the  dusk  to  fall 

Down  across  the  foggy  distance,  where 
the  night  birds  call. 


M  E  R  E    M  E  L  O  D  I  E  S     175 

j 

Ah,  my  love!     Can  I  forget,  | 

As  the  seasons  come,  i 

As  they  go,  that  even  yet 

Hearts  cannot  be  dumb  ? 

Some  are  fast  in  ice,  but  some 
Weep,  as  shadows  fall 

Down  upon  the  foggy  distance,  where  I 

the  night  birds  call! 


176    MERE    MELODIES 


LABIA  MEA  APERIES 

WHEN  stars  of  an  autumn  night 
Shine  clear  till  the  edge  of  dawn, 
And  frost,  in  the  darkness  white. 

At  a  touch  of  the  sun  is  gone ; 
When  woods,  with  their  flags  unrolled. 
Scarlet  and  green  and  gold. 

Burst  on  the  waking  sight, 
And  shout  of  the  treasure  they  hold — 
The  treasures  that  gleam  and  shine 

Behind  the  forest's  door, 
The  wild  grape's  purple  wine. 

And  the  chestnut's  bristled  store; 
When  the  last  October  days 

On  our  heartstrings  start  to  thrum. 
And  the  tongue  is  moved  to  praise 

That  summer  had  stricken  dumb — 
When  the  honey  of  all  the  year 

From  its  bursted  casket  drips, 
O  Thou  of  the  woods,  give  ear — 

O  Lord,  open  thou  my  lips ! 


MERE    MELODIES     177 


THE  MERIDIAN 

"There  is  a  movement  among  navigators  and 
astronomers  to  change  the  accepted  meridian  from 
its  present  situation,  on  account  of  the  defective 
position  of  the  Greenwich  observatory.  It  is  pro- 
posed to  adopt  generally  the  meridian  of  Beth- 
lehem, in  Judea." — Sunday  Paper. 

HO!  ye  wild  mariners,  whoVe  steered 
The  same  old  course  so  long — 
Answer  us — have  ye  never  feared 

Your  reckonings  were  wrong  ? 
"How  far  from  Greenwich?"     Can  you 
plan 
For  a  new  theorem, 
And  use  a  new  meridian — 
"How  far  from  Bethlehem?" 

Ye  yachtsmen  in  the  Social  Swim, 

Who  fix  your  weary  eyes 
On  London  shallows,  fogged  and  dim, 

As  they  were  Paradise — 


12 


178     MERE    MELODIES 

What  boot  these  barren  shores,  how  far 
Or  near  ye  sail  to  them  ? 

How  stand  ye  with  the  Ancient  Star- 
How  far  from  Bethlehem  ? 

And  ye  who  drive  your  slavers  out, 

Or  golden  galleys  in — 
Ye  modern  pirates,  stanch  and  stout, 

Respectable  in  sin — 
A  tempest  rises  in  the  west, 

A  tide  ye  may  not  stem! 
Ah,  fools !    How  vain  your  rainbow  quest. 

How  far  from  Bethlehem! 

O  Science,  groping  for  the  light. 

With  faith  thrown  overboard ! 
O  Students!     Are  your  figures  right — 

Are  all  your  books  explored  ? 
O  Dogma,  sailing  by  a  creed — 

Ere  ye  our  hopes  condemn. 
Are  chart  and  compass  all  ye  need? 

How  far  from  Bethlehem? 


MERE    MELODIES     179 

BALLADE  OF  AUTUMN 

7\ND    Autumn    comes — not     as     the 
-^^     Spring, 

With  song  of  birds  and  breath  of  cheer; 
No  pageants  to  its  passing  bring 

The  dying  year. 

No  shout  of  triumph  fills  the  ear. 
No  cry  of  sorrow,  even,  to  lend 

A  note  of  change — but  dull  and  drear 
Our  Summers  end ! 

And  Autumn  comes  with  whispering. 

So  softly  that  we  cannot  hear 
The  voiceless  dirge  she  seems  to  sing 

By  Summer's  bier. 

And  if  the  leaves  to-day  are  sere. 
Were  yesterday's  much  greener.^     Mend 

Your  phrase!     When  have  you   seen 
appear 
"Our  Summer's  end?" 


i8o    MERE    MELODIES 

And  Autumn  comes,  not  with  the  sting 

Of  sharp  regret,  or  sudden  veer 
Of  winds — a  soft,  disguised  thing 

That  sheds  no  tear. 

She's  finished  half  of  her  career 
Ere  we  begin  to  comprehend 

That  she  has  come,  and  brought  us  near 
Our  Summer's  end! 

l'envoi 
And  Autumn  comes!     But  we,  my  dear. 

Care  not,  for  she  has  been  our  friend 
And  taught  us  we  need  never  fear 

Our  Summer's  end! 


MERE    MELODIES     i8i 


IN  OCTOBER 

A  LEAFLESS  tree  is  not  a  cheerless 
thing, 
Nor  frozen  ground,  nor  biting  cold,  nor 

snow; 
Winter  is  good  to  look  at,  all  men  know, 
As  summer  is,  or  even  as  the  spring. 
But  be   the   tree  half-bare,  with  leaves 
that  cling 
Uneasily,  sport  of  the  winds  that  blow, 
How  dreary  is  the  picture !    All  our  woe 
Is  in  the  passing — not  the  burying. 

Life  is  a  wondrous  pleasure ;  and  in  death 

There  is  no  sorrow,  for  no  pain  is  there — 

But  oh!      the    dying   one  we  weep 

above ! 

Love  blesses  all  who  feel  his  tender  breath. 

Who  lack  love,  know  it  not,  and  cannot 

care — 

But  oh !   the  drear  October  of  a  love ! 


i82    MERE    MELODIES 


MIRACLES 

EVEN  in  winter  time,  the  whole  of  the 
world 
Appears  so  full  of  life — indeed, 
Seems  made  of  life — the  blossom  and  the 

seed, 
The  thistledown,  wind-whirled. 
The  crackling  branches,  and  the  snowy 

ground ; 
The  street  crowds,  full  of  rush  and  sound — 
That  it  seems  strange  to  me  that  men 
Should  count  the  thing  a  miracle. 
Unheard  of  and  impossible. 
That  any  dead  should  ever  live  again. 

That  is  not  strange — look  at  this  constant 

strife. 
The  fallen  things  that  rise,  the  restless 

ocean 
Of  things  that  are,  in  everlasting  motion; 
Creation's  either  naught  at  all,  or — Life. 


MERE    MELODIES     183 

And  if  the  dead  live  not  again,  in  what 

Hid,  loathsome  spot — 

What  noisome  dust  heap,  fouling  endless 

space. 
Does  all  this  vain  material  lie  and  rot — 
Say,  has  infinity  a  room  for  such  a  place  ? 

Not  thus  could  He  that  lives  in  all  things 

blunder. 
That  life  should  find  its  own  once  more, 
That  is  no  greater  cause  for  wonder, 
Than  that  day  follows  night  that  goes 

before. 
But  this  would  be  the  miracle, 
Inexplicable  and  unnatural — 
To  find  that,  anywhere  beneath  the  sky. 
What  lives  could  ever  die ! 


i84    MERE    MELODIES 


TEMPTATION 

1KN0W  a  covered  alley  with  a  gutter 
down  the  middle, 
And  a  torrent  in  the  gutter  it  would 
sicken  you  to  think  of; 
And  I  know  a  little  canyon  with  a  rill 
that  is  a  riddle 
In  its  origin  and  ending — that  a  dainty 
elf  might  drink  of! 
And  the  one  I  tread  by  daytime,  and  the 
other  when  I'm  dreaming — 
Oh,  the  stench  that  fills  the  alley!    Oh, 
the  canyon's  jeweled  gleaming! 

I  know  a  fairy  country,  past  the  blue 
hills  'way  out  yonder. 
Where  Life's  a  lovely  vision  and  where 
Death  can  never  enter; 
And  I  know  an  ugly  city  where  my  weary 
feet  will  wander 
With  the  other  messy  maggots  strug- 
gling toward  a  festering  center; 


MERE    MELODIES     185 

I  know  them  both — and  here  amid  the 
sUmy  slough  I  linger 

While  every  willow  beckons  with  its  dew- 
cleansed  pointing  finger! 

The  ugly  things  are  keeping  me  from 

what  is  merely  pretty; 
The  Lord  above  is  Father,  but  the  dirt 

is  still  my  Mother; 
And  God  is  in  the  country,  but  Mankind 

is  in  the  city, 
And  God  is  only  Father,  after  all — but 

Man  is  Brother! 
The  brooks,  the  canyons,  call  to  me  with 

words  no  tongue  can  utter. 
But  how  shall  I  be  washed  while  one  is 

lying  in  the  gutter? 


i86    MERE    MELODIES 


BALLADE  OF  CHRISTMAS  WEEK 

THOU  shalt  not,  in  the  coming  week, 
From  poverty  withhold  thine  hand ; 
Ten  thousand  children's  voices  speak 
To  mind  thee  of  the  Lord's  command. 
Poor  babes!    How  can  they  understand 
Why  cold  should  bite  and  hunger  gnaw? 

(O  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us,  and 
Incline  our  hearts  to  keep  this  law!) 

Thou  shalt  remember,  when  the  meek 

Christ's  birth  is  hailed  throughout  the 
land. 
How  as  a  child  He  came  to  seek 

This  wide-eyed,  hopeful,  helpless  band. 

Not  for  thyself  this  day  was  planned, 
But  these,  that  feel  the  purer  awe — 

(O  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us,  and 
Incline  our  hearts  to  keep  this  law!) 


MERE    MELODIES     187 


Thou  shalt  search  out  where   dwelhngs 
bleak 
Make  revenue  for  dwelKngs  grand — 
Where  noisome  courts  and  alleys  reek 
And  stamp  us  with  greed's  shameful 

brand ; 
Childhood  is   there!     Whose  woe  has 
spanned 
The  years  since  He  lay  in  the  straw — 

(O  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us,  and 
Incline  our  hearts  to  keep  this  law!) 

Thou,  who  with  equal  eye  hast  scanned 

Both  plutocrat  and  pariah, 
O,  Lord !     Have  mercy  on  us,  and 

Incline  our  hearts  to  keep  Thy  law! 


i88     MERE    MELODIES 


ALONE  I 

HE  stood  alone  in  Nazareth, 
He  walked  alone  by  Galilee;  ; 

Alone  He  crossed  the  unknown  sea  ; 

We  darkly  know  as  Death. 

Whatever  path  those  others  trod, 

They  had  Him  ever  at  their  side;  ! 

Alone  He  had  no  human  guide —  j 

Alone,  He  trusted  God !  | 

Ah!     We  would  seek  a  martyr's  throne  ! 

But  that  we  know  what  it  would  mean,  ! 

Pain  we  might  bear,  however  keen,  ' 

But  dare  not  be  alone!  j 


MERE    MELODIES     189 

A  CHRISTMAS  MELODY 

THERE  are  tales  that  lose  their  mean- 
ing with  the  changing  of  the  times 
And  become  at  last  the  curious  burden  of 

forgotten  rhymes: 
While  the  world's  demand  for  deeds  grows 

large  and  larger  every  day, 
And  we  turn  our  backs  on  fabled  lore, 

and  cast  our  myths  away. 
But  no  matter  how  new  problems  fill  the 

circle  of  our  earth — 
No  matter  how  old  tales  are  lost  as  things 

of  little  worth, 
There  is  one  legend  that  each  wintertide 

makes  doubly  dear — 
The    story    of    the    Christ-child    waxes 

sweeter  year  by  year. 


I90    MERE    MELODIES 

Ah,  louder  still  and  louder  grows  the  song 

the  angels  sang, 
And    clearer    sound    the    seraph's    notes 

across  the  fields  that  rang: 
And  dearer  seems  the  message  that  the 

shepherds  thought  so  sweet, 
And  brighter  shines  the  star  that  led  them 

to  a  Baby's  feet! 
Not  the  centuries  of  darkness  o'er  the 

nations  born  and  dead 
Can  dim  the  aureole  that  gleams  about 

the  Mother's  head; 
For  still  the  Kings  and  Wise  Men  of  the 

world  bow  down  to  Her 
Whose   memory  still   is  fragrant  of  the 

Frankincense  and  Myrrh! 


MERE    MELODIES     191 

Living   truth  or  lovely  fable,   there's   a 

deeper  meaning  lies 
Close  around  that  lowly  stable,  as  each 

year  grows  old  and  dies: 
And  each  mother  knows  the  secret  as  no 

priest  or  prophet  could. 
Of  the  glory  of  the  holiness  that  lives  in 

babyhood. 
Wherever  smiles  a  new-born  child,  haps 

the  same  wondrous  thing — 
Godhood   and   manhood   meet  again   to 

crown  a  future  king; 
Wherever  mother  clasps  her  babe,  that 

bright  Star  shines  on  them — 
Wherever  rocks  a  cradle  is  another  Beth- 
lehem! 


192    MERE    MELODIES 

O  mystery  of  Motherhood !    O  miracle  of    \ 

birth!  I 

O  magic  of  the  Childhood  song  that  her-    i 

aids  peace  on  earth!  i 

Lean  low,  celestial  choristers,  and  sweep     j 

the  clouds  away,  j 

And    chant   a   grander   anthem    still    to    I 

greet  this  Christmas  Day!  ; 

A  new  song  to  the  children,  at  whose    | 

feet,  just  as  of  old,  ; 

The  wise  men  and  the  kings  lay  gifts  of    j 

incense  and  of  gold,  \ 

Sing  loud — and  yet  to  us  will  be,  while    I 

life,  while  love  endures. 
The  laughter  of  these  little  ones  a  sweeter    j 

song  than  yours!  j 


M  E  R  E    M  E  L  O  D  I  E  S     193  i 

~  \ 

i 

DANSE  MACABRE  I 

CHOOSE  your  partners!    Take  your 
places!  , 

'Tis  the  wildest  dance — the  last!  I 

Now  again  unmask  your  faces —  \ 

Tear  therefrom  the  flesh's  cast! 
Hark,  the  hautboy's  eerie  blast  ; 

Echoes  from  the  sexton's  hut;  j 

Up !     The  night  is  nearly  past —  j 

Here's  a  dance  you  cannot  cut! 

Now,  with  hideous  grimaces,  ' 

Death,  the  old  Iconoclast, 
Puts  the  party  through  its  paces,  ■ 

Sets  the  tempo  sharp  and  fast;  • 

Gleam  the  eyeballs,  sick  and  glassed,  i 

Blares  the  brass  and  shrieks  the  gut —  ^ 

To  it,  friend!     Why  stand  aghast?  \ 

Here's  a  dance  you  cannot  cut!  ' 

\ 
I 
i 

13  1 


194    MERE    MELODIES 

Ho,  thou  beau  with  airs  and  graces, 

Show  us  now  what  steps  thou  hast! 
Soon     thou'lt     whirl     through     endless 
spaces — 

Hell's  broad  ballroom's  chill  and  vast! 
Here  the  gibbering  crowd  is  massed, 

Where  the  graveyard  gates  are  shut; 
Trip  it,  old  enthusiast — 

Here's  a  dance  you  cannot  cut! 

Prince!    Your  grave  is  filled  and  grassed; 

Hasten,  ere  the  last  worm  glut 
On  your  last  lone  bioplast — 

Here's  a  dance  you  cannot  cut! 


MERE    MELODIES     195 


A  REFLECTION 

SEARED   by   the   years,   and   disillu- 
sioned by 
The  disappointments  that  arrive  each 
day 
Just  as  expected,  yet  each  year  I  try 
At  Christmas  time,  when  I  am  fain  to 
say, 
"Would  it  were  over!"  something  of  the 
joy 
And  something  of  the  eagerness  to  bor- 
row 
That  plucks  the  heart  strings  of  my  little 
boy, 
Who  asks,  each  evening,  "Will  it  be 
tomorrow?" 

Shame  on  the  aging  nerves  that  grudge 

the  strain! 
Shame   on   the   hardening   heart   that 

beats  so  slow! 
What  sort  of  business  makes  the  sluggish 

brain 


196    MERE    MELODIES 

A  mere  machine  that  grumbles  to  and 
fro? 
A  pity  that  the  future  is  too  near — 
A  pity  that  the  past  should  be  too  far 
—Oh 
So  far  too  far! — to  understand  the  sheer, 
Dumb  yearning  of  that  "Will  it  be  to- 
morrow?" 

He  has  no  calendar,  that  little  lad — 
To  him,  some  random  power  pricks  the 
date 
On   which   his   straining   spirit   shall   be 
glad; 
In  trusting  blindness  he  can  only  wait! 
Just  as,  O  Father,  who  dost  hold  the  key 
That  shall  unlock  the  gates  of  earthly 
sorrow. 
We  children  in  our  ignorance  ask  of  thee 
Of  the  last  rapture,  *'Will  it  be  to- 
morrow ?" 


MERE    MELODIES    197 


THE  OLD  VIGIL 

WAITING    for    Spring!     Why,    we 
begin  to  wait 
Before  the  frosts  have  killed  the  au- 
tumn leaves; 
Before  the  housetops  bear  their  earliest 
freight 
Of  snow  that  melts  and  overflovv^s  the 
eaves. 
Waiting  for  Spring!    The  birds  that  stay 
with  us, 
And  those  that  leave  us,  on  reluctant 
wing, 
Ay,  all  look  forward  to  the  Winter  thus — 
A  cold  room  where  we  sit  and  wait  for 
Spring! 


198     MERE    MELODIES 

Waiting  for  Spring!     Somehow,  a  man 
begins 
Soon  as  the  Maytime  of  his  Hfe's  at 
end, 
To  wait  another.     And  if  wanhope  wins, 
God  teach  him  what  he  cannot  compre- 
hend ! 
God,  who  hast  sent  the  Springtime's  song 
and  psalm. 
Open   our   eyes   to   this   so  wondrous 
thing — 
Grant  us  to  sit  In  faith's  unshaken  calm. 
Through  Kfe's  December,  waiting  for 
the  Spring! 


MERE    MELODIES     199 


THE  MIGHTY  ATOM 

HE  walks  along  the  crowded  street, 
from  home  unto  his  work, 
One  of  the  multitudes  that  meet  and  pass 

and  creep  and  lurk — 
One  of  the  dreary  many,  bound  from  sor- 

didness  to  care. 
Not  more  nor  less  than  any,  found  here, 
there  or  anywhere. 

An  ant  in  scores  of  anthills — cog  in  a 

million  wheels — 
He  thinks  and  moves  and  feels,  but  not 

more  than  another  feels; 
He  loves,  he  hopes — each  does  the  same, 

but  who  is  he  or  they 
Apart  from  the  gigantic  game   that  all 

the  world  must  play  ? 


200    MERE    MELODIES 


He  walks  along  the  dirty  street  he  never 
went  beyond, 

One  of  the  crowd  that  he  may  meet, 
bound  to  them  with  a  bond ; 

And  yet — he  thinks  of  Socrates,  he  specu- 
lates of  Mars — 

He  who  has  never  planted  trees  wanders 
among  the  stars! 

He  who  is  born  to  leaden  days  lives  in 
the  golden  years. 

Slinks  through  an  alley's  noisome  ways — 
for  Heloise  sheds  tears! 

An  atom,  man?  A  mere  unknown,  un- 
knowing part  of  things  ? 

Time  and  eternity  are  his — love,  space, 
and  angels'  wings! 


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